QUINCY-ADAMS-SAWYER 

A-  STORY-  OF 
NEW-  ENGLAND  •  HOME-LIFE 


CHARLES  -FELTON  •  PIDGIN 


713 


"  THE  VILLAGE  GOSSIPS  WONDERED  WHO  HE  WAS,  WHAT 
HE  WAS,  WHAT  HE  CAME  FOtt.  AND  HOW  LONG  HE 
INTENDED  TO  STAY." 


Q  U  I  N  C  Y 
ADAMS 
SAWYER 

AND 

MASON'S   CORNER  FOLKS 


A     PICTURE     OF     NEW 
ENGLAND    HOME    LIFE 

BY 

CHAS.  FELTON  PIDGIN 


BOS  TON 

THE     C.     M.     CLARK 
PUBLISHING  COMPANY 


NEW       YORK 
GROSSET  y  DUNLAP 

SOLS      AGENTS      FOR      THE 
POPULAR      EDITIONS 


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REVISED 

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Copyright    1900    by 

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CHAS.    FM.TON    PIDGIN, 

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BOSTON,  MASS.,  U.S.A. 

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Copyright    1901   by 

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CHAS.    FELTON    PIDGIN, 

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BOITON,  MASS.,  U.S.A. 

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Entered   at   Stationers   Hall 

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Foreign   Copyright  Secured 

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Public   Reading,  and   Dra 

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Respectfully  dedicated  r.o 
the  Memory  of  the  tatc 
H  ON  JAMES 
RUSSELL  LOWELL 
the  pernsai  of  whos' 
famoo*  poem 
"'Tat  COURTIH" 
tappCed  the  inspiration 
that  led  to  the  writing 
off  th»  book 


4*4444444444*44* 


2137757 


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AUTHOR'S     PREFACE. 

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QUINCY  ADAMS  SAWYER'S 

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only  title  was  plain  *'  Mr."     His  ancestors 

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were  tradesmen,  merchants,  lawyers,  politi 

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cians,  and  Presidents.     He,  too,  was  proud 

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of  his   honored   ancestry,   and  I  have  en 

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deavored  in  this  book  to  have  him  live  up  to 

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an  ideal  personification  of  gentlemanly  qual 

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ities  for  which  the  New  England  standard 

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should   be   fully    as   high   as   that   of   Old 

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England  ;  in  fact,  I  see  no  reason  why  the 

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heroes  of  American  novels,  barring  the  single 

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matter  of  hereditary  titles,  should  not  com 

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pare  favorably  as  regards  gentlemanly  attri 

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butes  with  their  English  cousins  across  the 

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»eas.                                                C.  P.   P. 

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GRAY  CHAMBERS, 

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BOSTON,  October,  1902. 

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CHAPTERS 

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AGE 

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I. 

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II. 

Mason's  Corner  Folks  .     .     <> 

12 

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in. 

The  Concert  in  the  Town  Hall 

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IV. 

Ancestry  versus  Patriotism    . 

32 

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V. 

Mr.  Sawyer  Meets  Uncle  Ike 

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VI. 

Some  New  Ideas     .... 

45 

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VII. 

"That  City  Feller"   .     .     . 

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VIII. 

City    Skill    versus    Country 

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Muscle  

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IX. 

Mr.   Sawyer    Calls   on    Miss 

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68 

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X. 

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XI. 

Some  Sad  Tidings  .... 

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XII. 

Looking  for  a  Boarding  Place  . 

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XIII. 

A  Visit  to  the  Victim  .     . 

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XIV. 

A  Quiet  Evening    .... 

97 

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XV. 

A  Long  Lost  Relative  .     .     . 

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XVI. 

A  Promise  Kept      .... 

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xvn. 

An  Informal  Introduction  .     . 

127 

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xvni. 

The  Courtin*     

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XIX. 

Jim  Sawyer's  Funeral  .     .     . 

I38 

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CHAPTERS 

PAGE 

XX.  A  Wet  Day 149 

XXI.  Some  More  New  Ideas     .     .160 

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*  XXII.  After  the  Great  Snowstorm     .  172 

XXIII.  A  Visit  to  Mrs.  Putnam    .     .186 

XXIV.  The  New  Doctor  .     .     .     .196 
XXV.  Some  Plain  Fact*  and   Infcr- 

*  ences 210 

*  XXVI.  The  Surprise  Party      .      .     .227 
XXVII.  Town  Politics   .....  256 

XXVIII.  The  Town  Meeting    .     .     .279 

XXIX.  Mrs.      Hawkins's      Boarding 

House 306 

XXX.  A  Settlement 321 

XXXI.  An  Inheritance  „     .     .     .     .330 

XXXH.  Aunt  Ella 347 

XXXIII.  The  Wcddin's 367 

XXXIV.  Blennerhassett 380 

XXXV.  "The  Bird  of  Lore"       .     .400 

XXXVI.  Then  They  Were  Married  .  433 

XXXVII.  Linda's  Birthright  ....  440 

XXXVIII.  Fernborough 469 


QUINCY   ADAMS   SAWYER. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE    REHEARSAL. 

IT  was  a  little  after  seven  o'clock  on  the  evening  of  De 
cember  31,  1 86 — .  Inside,  the  little  red  schoolhouse 
was  ablaze  with  light.  Sounds  of  voices  and  laughter  came 
from  within  and  forms  could  'be  seen  flitting  back  and  forth 
through  the  uncurtained  windows.  Outside,  a  heavy  fall 
of  snow  lay  upon  hill  and  vale,  trees  and  house-tops,  while 
the  rays  of  a  full-orbed  moon  shone  down  upon  the  glisten 
ing,  white  expanse. 

At  a  point  upon  the  main  road  a  short  distance  beyond 
the  square,  where  the  grocery  store  was  situated,  stood  a 
young  man.  This  young  man  was  Ezekiel  Pettengill,  one 
of  the  well-to-do  young  farmers  of  the  village.  His  coat 
collar  was  turned  up  and  his  cap  pulled  down  over  his  ears; 
for  the  air  was  piercing  cold  and  a  biting  wind  was  blowing. 
Now  and  then  tie  would  walk  briskly  back  and  forth  for  a 
few  minutes,  clapping  his  hands,  which  were  encased  in 
gray  woollen  mittens,  in  order  to  restore  some  warmth  to 
those  almost  frozen  members.  As  he  walked  back  and 
forth,  he  said  several  times,  half  aloud  to  himself,  "I  don't 
b'lieve  she's  comin'  anyway.  I  s'pose  she's  goin'  to  stay 


2  QUIXCY  ADAMS    SAWYER, 

ter  hum  and  spend  the  evenin'  with  him."  Finally  he  re 
sumed  his  old  position  near  the  corner  and  assumed  his 
previous  expectant  attitude. 

As  he  looked  down  the  road,  a  man  came  out  of  Mrs, 
Hawkins's  boarding  house,  crossed  the  road  and  walked 
swiftly  towards  him. 

As  the  new-comer  neared  him,  he  called  out,  "Hello,  Pet- 
tengill!  is  that  you?  Confounded  cold,  ain't  it?  Who  wuz 
yer  waitin'  for?  Been  up  to  the  schoolhouse  yet?'' 

To  these  inquiries  'Zekiel  responded:  "No!"'  and  added, 
"I  saw  yer  comin'  out  of  the  house  and  thought  I'd  walk  up 
with  yer.'' 

"Wall!  they  can't  do  nuthin'  till  I  git  thar,"  said  Mr. 
Obadiah  Strout,  the  singing-master,  "so  we  shall  both  be  on 
time.  By  the  way,"  he  continued,  "I  was  up  to  Boston 
to-day  to  git  some  things  I  wanted  for  the  concert  to-morrer 
night,  and  the  minister  asked  me  to  buy  some  new  music 
books  for  the  church  choir,  and  I'm  goin'  up  there  fust  to 
take  'em;''  and  'Zekiel's  attention  was  attracted  to  a  pack 
age  that  Mr.  Strout  held  under  his  arm.  "Say,  Pettengill!" 
continued  Mr.  Strout,  "when  yet  git  up  ter  the  schoolhouse, 
tell  them  I'll  be  along  in  a  few  minutes;"  and  he  started  off, 
apparently  forgetful  of  'Zekiel's  declaration  that  he  had 
intended  to  walk  up  with  him. 

It  is  evident  that  'Zekiel's  statement  was  untruthful,  for 
his  words  have  betrayed  the  fact  that  it  was  not  the  Pro 
fessor  of  whom  he  had  been  thinking1. 

'Zekiel  did  not  move  from  his  position  until  he  had  seen 
Strout  turn  into  the  yard  that  led  to  the  front  door  of  the 
minister's  house.  Then  he  said  to  himself  again,  "I  don't 
believe  she's  comin',  arter  all." 

As  he  spoke  the  words  a  deep,  heavy  sigh  came  from  his 
great,  honest  heart,  heard  only  by  the  leaflless  trees  through 
which  the  winter  wind  moaned  as  if  in  sympathv. 

What  was  going  on  in  the  little  red  schoolhouse?    The 


THE  REHEARSAL.  3 

occasion  was  the  last  rehearsal  of  the  Eastborough  Singing 
Society,  which  had  been  studying  vocal  music  assiduously 
for  the  last  three  months  under  the  direction  of  Professor 
Obadiah  Strout,  and  was  to  give  its  annual  concert  the  fol 
lowing  evening  at  the  Town  Hall  at  Eastborough. 

A  modest  sum  had  been  raised  by  subscription.  A  big 
barge  had  been  hired  in  Cottonton,  and  after  the  rehearsal 
there  was  to  be  a  sleigh  ride  to  Eastborough  Centre  and  re 
turn.  It  was  evident  from  the  clamor  and  confusion  that 
the  minds  of  those  present  were  more  intent  upon  the  ride 
than  the  rehearsal,  and  when  one  girl  remarked  that  the 
Professor  was  late,  another  quickly  replied  that,  "if  he 
didn't  come  at  all  'twould  be  early  enough." 

There  were  about  two  score  of  young  persons  present, 
very  nearly  equally  divided  between  the  two  sexes.  Ben 
jamin  Bates  was  there  and  Robert  Wood,  Cobb's  twins, 
Emmanuel  Howe,  and  Samuel  Hill.  Among  the  girls  were 
Lindy  Putnam,  the  best  dressed  and  richest  girl  in  town, 
Mandy  Skinner,  Tilly  James,  who  had  more  beaus  than  any 
other  girl  in  the  village;  the  Green  sisters  Samanthy  and 
Betsy,  and  Miss  Sera-phina  Cotton,  the  village  school 
teacher. 

Evidently  all  the  members  of  the  society  had  not  arrived, 
for  constant  inquiries  were  being  made  about  Huldy  Mason 
and  'Zekiel  Pettengill.  When  Betsy  Green  asked  Mandy 
Skinner  if  Hiram  Maxwell  wa'n't  comin',  the  latter  replied 
that  he'd  probably  come  up  when  Miss  Huldy  and  the  new 
boarder  did. 

N<ews  had  reached  the  assemblage  that  Arthur  Scates, 
the  best  tenor  singer  in  the  society,  was  sick.  Lindy  Put 
nam  was  to  sing  a  duet  with  him  at  the  concert,  and  so  she 
asked  if  anybody  had  been  to  see  him. 

"I  was  up  there  this  arternoon,"  said  Ben  Bates,  "and  he 
seemed  powerful  bad  in  the  throat.  Grandmother  Scates 
tied  an  old  stockin'  'round  his  throat  and  gin  him  a  bowl  of 


4  QUINCT  ADAMS    SAWYER, 

catnip  tea  and  he  kinder  thought  he'd  be  all  right  to- 
morrer.  I  told  htm  you'd  have  a  conniption  fit  if  he  didn't 
show  up,  but  Grandmother  Scates  shook  her  head  kind  o* 
doubtful  and  said,  'The  Lord's  will  be  done.  What  can't 
be  cured  must  be  endured;'  and  I  guess  that's  about  the 
way  it  will  be," 

The  outer  door  opened  and  'Zekiel  Pettengill  entered. 
The  creaking  of  the  opening  door  attracted  the  attention  of 
all.  When  the  girls  saw  who  it  was,  they  ran  and  gathered 
about  him,  a  dozen  voices  crying  out,  "Where  is  Huldy? 
We  all  thought  she'd  come  with  you." 

'Zekiel  shook  his  head. 

"You  don't  know?"  asked  Tilly  James,  incredulously. 
'Zekiel  shook  his  head  again.  "Of  course  you  do,"  said 
Tilly  contemptuously. 

She  turned  away,  followed  (by  a  number  of  the  girls. 
"He  knows  well  enough,"  she  observed  in  an  undertone, 
"ibut  .he  -won't  tell.  He's  gone  on  Huldy,  and  when  a 
feller's  gone  on  a  girl  he's  pretty  sure  to  keep  the  run  of 
her." 

In  the  meantime  Lindy  Putnam  had  been  using  her  most 
persuasive  powers  of  coaxing  on  'Zekiel  and  with  some  suc 
cess,  for  'Zekiel  told  quite  a  long  story,  but  with  very  little 
information  in  it.  He  told  the  crowd  of  girls  gathered 
about  him  that  he'd  be  twenty-eight  on  the  third  of  January, 
and  that  ever  since  he  was  a  little  boy,  which  was,  of  course, 
before  any  of  those  present  were  born,  he'd  always  followed 
the  rule  of  not  saying  anything  unless  'he  knew  what  he 
was  talking  about. 

"Now,"  said  'Zekiel,  feeling  that  it  was  better  to  talk  on 
than  to  stand  sheep-facedly  before  this  crowd  of  eager,  ex 
pectant  faces,  "I  might  tell  yer  that  Huldy  was  ter  hum 
and  wasn't  -comm'  up  to-night,  but  yer  see,  p'r'aps  she's  on 
the  road  now  and  may  pop  in  here  any  minute!  Course 
you  all  know  Deacon  Mason's  got  a  boarder,  a  young  feller 


THE  REHEARSAL  5 

from  the  city.  P'r'aps  he'll  come  up  with  Huldy.  But  I 
heerd  tell  his  health  wa'n't  very  good  and  mebbe  he  went  to 
bed  right  after  supper." 

"What's  he  down  here  for  anyway?"  asked  Tilly  James. 

"Now  you've  got  me,"  replied  'Zekiel.  "I  s'pose  he  had 
^some  purpose  in  view,  but  you  see  I  ain't  positive  even  of 
that.  As  I  said  before,  I  heerd  he's  come  down  here  for  his 
health.  It's  too  late  for  rakin'  hay,  and  as  hard  work's  the 
best  country  doctor,  p'r'aps  he'll  go  to  choppin'  wood;  but 
there's  one  point  I  feel  kinder  positive  on." 

"What  is  it?  What  is  it?"  cried  the  girls,  as  they  looked 
into  his  face  inquiringly. 

"Wall,  I  think,"  drawled  'Zekiel,  "that  when  he  gits  what 
he's  come  for,  he'll  be  mighty  apt  to  pull  up  stakes  and  go 
back  to  Boston." 

Again  the  outer  door  creaked  upon  its  hinges,  and  again 
every  face  was  turned  to  see  who  the  new-comer  might  be. 

"Here  she  is,"  cried  a  dozen  voices;  and  the  owners 
thereof  rushed  forward  to  greet  and  embrace  Miss  Huldy 
Mason,  the  Deacon's  daughter  and  the  most  popular  girl  in 
the  village. 

'Zekiel  turned  and  saw  that  she  was  alone.  Evidently 
the  city  fellow  had  not  come  with  her. 

Huldy  was  somewhat  astonished  at  the  warmth  of  her 
greeting,  and  was  at  a  loss  to  understand  the  reason  for  it, 
until  Lindy  Putnam  said: 

"Didn't  he  come  with  you?'' 

"Who?"  asked  Huldy,  with  wide-open  eyes. 

"Oh,  you  can't  fool  us,"  cried  Tilly  James.  "  'Zeke  Pet- 
tengill  told  us  all  about  that  city  feller  that's  boarding 
down  to  your  house.  We  were  just  talking  it  over  to 
gether,  and  he  surmised  that  it  might  be  the  same  one  that 
you  met  down  to  your  aunt's  house,  when  you  went  to 
Boston  last  summer." 

"As  Mr.  Pettengill  seems  to  know  so  much  about  my 


«  QUINCY   ADAMS  SAWYER. 

gentlemen  friends,  if  you  want  any  more  information,  no 
doubt  he  can  supply  it,"  said  Huldy  coldly. 

"  'Zeke  kinder  thought/'  said  Bob  Wood,  "that  he 
might  be  tired,  and  probably  went  to  bed  right  after 
supper." 

"Well,  he  didn't/'  said  Huldy,  now  thoroughly  excited, 
"he  came  with  me,  and  he's  outside  now  talking  with 
Hiram  about  the  barge." 

"Why  don't  he  come  in?"  asked  Bob  Wood.  "P'raps 
he's  bashful." 

"If  he  didn't  have  no  more  common  sense  than  you've 
got/'  retorted  Huldy,  "he'd  have  to  go  to  bed  as  soon  as 
he  had  eaten  his  supper." 

The  laugh  that  followed  this  remark  so  incensed  Wrood 
that  he  answered  coarsely,  "I  never  saw  one  of  those  city 
chaps  who  knew  B  from  a  bull's  foot." 

"Perhaps  he'll  teach  you  the  difference  some  day,"  re 
marked  Huldy,  sarcastically. 

"Well,  I  guess  not,"  said  Wood  with  a  sneer;  "'less  he. 
can  put  two  b's  in  able." 

Further  altercation  was  stopped  'by  the  sudden  entrance 
of  Mr.  Strcmt,  who  quickly  ascended  the  platform  and 
called  the  society  to  order.  It  must  <be  acknowledged  that 
the  Professor  had  a  good  knowledge  of  music  and  thor 
oughly  understood  the  very  difficult  art  of  directing  a 
mixed  chorus  of  uncultivated  voices.  With  him  enthusi 
asm  was  more  important  than  a  strict  adherence  to  quavers 
and  semiquavers,  and  what  was  lost  in  fine  touches  was 
more  than  made  up  in  volume  of  tone. 

Again,  the  Professor  paid  strict  attention  to  'business  at 
rehearsals,  and  the  progress  of  the  society  in  musical  knowl 
edge  had  been  very  marked.  So  it  is  not  to  <be  wondered 
at  that  the  various  numbers  allotted  to  the  chorus  on  the 
next  evening's  programme  were  gone  through  quickly  and 
to  the  evident  satisfaction  of  the  leader. 


THE    REHEARSAL.  7 

The  last  number  to  be  taken  up  was  an  original  com 
position,  written  and  composed  by  the  singing-master  him 
self,  and  during  its  rehearsal  his  enthusiasm  reached  its 
highest  pitch.  At  the  conclusion  of  the  chorus,  which  had 
been  rendered  with  remarkable  spilit,  the  Professor  darted 
from  one  end  of  the  platform  to  the  other,  crying  out, 
"Bravo!  Fust  rate!  Do  it  again!  That'll  fetch  'em!" 

After  several  repetitions  of  the  chorus,  each  one  given 
with  increasing1  spirit  and  volume,  the  Professor  threw  down 
his  baton  and  said:  "That'll  do.  You're  excused  until  to 
morrow  night,  seven  o'clock  sharp  at  Eastborough  Town 
Hall.  I  guess  the  barge  has  just  drove  up  and  we'd  better 
be  gittin'  ready  for  our  sleigh  ride." 

Miss  Tilly  James,  who  had  acted  as  accompanist  on  the 
tin-panny  old  piano,  was  putting  up  her  music.  The  Pro 
fessor,  with  his  face  wreathed  in  smiles,  walked  up  to  her 
und  said,  "I  tell  you  what,  Miss  James,  that  last  composition 
of  mine  is  bang  up.  One  of  these  days,  when  the  'Star 
Spangled  Banner/  'Hail  Columbia/  and  'Marching  through 
Georgia'  are  laid  upon  the  top  shelf  and  all  covered  with 
dust,  one  hundred  million  American  freemen  will  be  sing 
ing  Strout's  great  national  anthem,  'Hark,  and  hear  the 
Eagle  Scream.'  What  do  you  think  of  that  prophecy?" 

"I  think,"  said  Miss  James,  turning  her  pretty  face 
towards  him,  her  black  eyes  snapping  with  fun,  "that  if 
conceit  was  consumption,  there'd  be  another  little 
£r<*en  grave  in  -the  cemetery  with  O.  Strout  on  the  head 
stone/' 

The  Professor  never  could  take  a  joke.  In  his  eye,  jokes 
were  always  insults  to  be  resented  accordingly.  Turning 
upon  the  young  lady  savagely,  he  retorted: 

"If  sass  was  butter,  your  folks  wouldn't  have  to  keep  any 

'.'OWS." 

Then  he  walked  quickly  across  the  room  to  where  'Zekiel 


9  QUIKCY    ADAMS    SAWYER. 

Fsttengill  stood  aloof  from  the  rest,  wrapped  in  some 
apparently  not  very  pleasant  thoughts. 

At  this  juncture  Hiram  Maxwell  dashed  into  the  school 
room,  and  judging  from  appearances  his  thoughts  were  of 
the  pleasantest  possible  description. 

''Say,  fellers  and  girls,"  he  cried,  "I've  got  some  news  for 
yer,  and  when  you  hear  it  you'll  think  the  day  of  judgment 
h?*  come,  and  you're  goin'  to  git  your  reward." 

An  astonished  "Oh!''  came  up  from  the  assemblage. 

"Out  with  it,"  said  Bob  Wood,  in  his  coarse,  rough  voice. 

"Well,  fust,"  said  Hiram,  his  face  glowing  with  anima 
tion,  "you  know  we  got  up  a  subscription  to  pay  for  the 
barge  and  made  me  treasurer,  cuz  I  worked  in  a  deacon's 
family.  Wall,  when  I  asked  Bill  Stalker  to-night  how  much 
the  bill  would  be,  just  to  see  if  I'd  got  enough,  he  told  me 
that  a  Mr.  Sawyer,  who  said  he  'boarded  down  to  Deacon 
Mason's,  had  paid  the  hull  bill  and  given  him  a  dollar  be- 
sMe  for  hisself."  Cheers  and  the  clapping  of  hands  showed 
that  the  city  fellow's  liberality  was  appreciated  by  a  major 
ity,  at  least,  of  the  singing  society.  "When  we  git  on  the 
br\rge  I'll  pay  yer  back  yer  money,  and  the  ride  won't  cost 
any  one  on  us  a  durn  cent.  That  ain't  all.  Mr.  Sawyer  jest 
told  me  hisself  that  when  he  was  over  to  Eastborough 
Centre  yesterday  he  ordered  a  hot  supper  for  the  whole 
caboodle,  and  it'll  be  ready  for  us  when  we  git  over  to  the 
Eagle  Hotel.  So  come  along  and  git  your  seats  in  the 
'barge."  A  wild  rush  was  made  for  the  door,  but  Hiram 
backed  against  it  and  screamed  at  the  top  of  his  voice: 
"No  two  girls  must  sit  close  together.  Fust  a  girl,  then  a 
feller,  next  a  girl,  then  a  feller,  next  a  girl,  then  a  feller, 
that's  the  rule." 

He  opened  the  door  and  dashed  out,  followed  by  all  the 
members  of  the  society  excepting  the  Professor  and  'Zekiel, 
who  were  left  alone  in  the  room. 

"See  that  flock  of  sheep,"  said  the  Professor  to  'Zekiel 


THE  REHEAIISAL.  » 

with  a  strong  touch  of  sarcasm  in  his  tone.  "That's  what 
makes  me  so  cussed  mad.  Brains  and  glorious  achieve 
ment  count  for  nothin'  in  this  community.  If  a  city  swell 
comes  along  with  a  pocketful  of  money  and  just  cries, 
'Baa/  over  the  fence  they  all  go  after  him." 

"Hasn't  it  always  been  so?"  asked  'Zekiel. 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,"  said  Strout.    "In  the  old  days,  kingsj 
and  queens  and  princes  used  to  search  for  modest  merit, 
and  when  found  they  rewarded  it.    Nowadays  modest  merit 
has  to  holler  and  yell  and  screech  to  make  folks  look  at  it.'' 

Hiram  again  appeared  in  the  room,  beckoning  to  the  two 
occupants. 

"Say,  ain't  you  two  comin'  along?"  he  cried.  "We've 
saved  good  places  for  yer." 

"Where's  Mr.  Sawyer?"  asked  'Zekiel. 

"Oh,  he's  goin'  along  with  the  crowd/'  said  Hiram;  "he's 
got  a  seat  in  between  Miss  Putnam  and  Miss  Mason,  and 
looks  as  snug  as  a  bug  in  a  rug.  There's  a  place  for  you, 
Mr.  Pettengill,  foetween  Miss  Mason  and  'Mandy,  and  I 
comes  in  between  Mandy  and  Mrs.  Hawkins.  Mandy 
wanted  her  mother  to  go  cuz  she  works  so  confounded  hard 
and  gits  out  of  doors  so  seldom,  and  there's  a  seat  'tween 
Mrs.  Hawkins  and  Tilly  James  for  the  Professor,  and  Sam 
Hill's  t'other  side  of  Tilly  and  nex'  to  S'frina  Cotton." 

"I  guess  I  can't  go,"  said  'Zekiel.  "The  house  is  all  alone, 
and  I'm  kind  of  'fraid  thet  thet  last  hoss  I  bought  may  get 
into  trouble  again  as  he  did  last  night.  So  I  guess  I'd 
better  go  home  and  look  arter  things.''  Leaning  over  he 
whispered  in  Hiram's  ear,  "I  reckon  you'd  better  take  the 
seat  between  Huldy  and  Mandy,  you  don't  want  ter 
separate  a  mother  from  her  daughter,  you  know." 

"All  right,"  said  Hiram,  with  a  knowing  wink,  "I'm 
satisfied  to  obleege." 

Hiram  then  turned  to  the  Professor:  "Ain't  yer  goin', 
Mr.  Strout?" 


/O  QUIXCY  ADAMS    SAWYER. 

"When  this  sleigh  ride  was  projected/'  said  the  Professor 
•with  dignity,  "I  s'posed  it  was  to  be  for  the  members  of  the 
singin'  class  and  not  for  'boardin'  mistresses  and  city 
loafers." 

"I  guess  it  don't  make  much  difference  who  goes,"  re 
plied  Hiram,  "as  long  as  we  git  a  free  ride  and  a  free  supper 
for  nothing.** 

"Present  my  compliments  to  Mr.  Sawyer,"  said  the  Pro 
fessor,  "and  tell  him  I've  had  my  supper,  and  as  I  don't 
belong  to  a  fire  company,  I  don't  care  for  crackers  and 
cheese  and  coffee  so  late  in  the  evenin'." 

"Oh,  bosh!"  cried  Hiram,  "it's  goin'  to  be  a  turkey  sup 
per,  with  fried  chicken  and  salery  and  cranberry  juice,  and 
each  feller's  to  have  a  bottle  of  cider  and  each  girl  a  bottle 
of  ginger  ale.* 

A  horn  was  heard  outside,  it  being  the  signal  for  the 
starting  of  the  barge.  Without  stopping  to  say  good-by, 
'Hiram  rushed  out  of  the  room,  secured  his  seat  in  the  barge, 
and  with  loud  cheers  the  merry  party  started  off  on  their 
journey. 

The  Professor  extinguished  the  lights  and  accompanied 
by  'Zekiel  left  the  building.  He  locked  the  door  and  hung 
the  key  in  its  accustomed  place,  for  no  one  at  Mason's  Cor 
ner  ever  imagined  that  a  thief  could  be  so  'bad  as  to  steal 
anything  from,  a  schoolhouse.  And  it  was  once  argued  in 
town  meeting  that  if  a  tramp  got  into  it  and  thus  escaped 
freezing,  that  was  better  than  to  have  the  town  pay  for 
burying  him. 

Both  men  walked  along  silently  until  they  reached  Mrs. 
Hawkins'  boarding  house;  here  the  Professor  stopped  and 
bade  'Zekiel  good  night.  After  doing  so  he  added: 

"Pettengill,  you  and  me  must  jine  agin  the  common 
enemy.  This  town  ain't  'big  enough  to  hold  us  and  this 
destroyer  of  our  happiness,  and  we  must  find  some  way  of 
smokin'  him  out." 


THE  KEHEAKSAL.  1J 

The  slumbers  of  both  'Zekiel  and  the  Professor  were 
broken  when  the  jolly  party  returned  home  after  midnight 
'Zekiel  recalled  Hiram's  description  of  the  arrangement  of 
seats,  and  another  deep  sigh  escaped  him;  but  this  time 
there  were  no  leafless  trees  and  winter  wind  to  supply  an 
echo. 

The  Professor's  half-awakened  mind  travelled  in  very 
different  channels.  He  imagined  himself  engaged  in  several 
verbal  disputes  with  a  number  of  fisticuff  encounters  in 
which  he  invariably  proved  to  be  .too  much  for  the  city 
fellow.  Just  before  he  sank  again  into  a  deep  sleep  he 
imagined  that  the  entire  population  of  Mason's  Corner 
escorted  a  certain  young  man  forcibly  to  the  railroad  station 
at  Eastborough  Centre  and  put  him  in  charge  of  the 
expressman,  to  be  delivered  in  Boston.  And  that  young 
*nan,  in  the  Professor's  dream,  had  a  tag  tied  to  the  lapel  of 
bis  coat  upon  which  was  written,  "Quincy  Adams  Sawyer," 


CHAPTER  II. 

MASON'S  CORNER    FOLKS. 

IN  1 86 —  the  town  of  Eastborough  was  located  in  the 
southeastern  part  of  Massachusetts,  in  the  county  of 
Normouth.  It  was  a  large  town,  being  fully  five  miles 
wide  from  east  to  west  and  from  five  to  seven  miles  long-, 
the  northern  and  southern  boundaries  being  very  irregular. 

The  town  contained  three  villages;  the  western  one  being 
known  as  West  Eastborough,  the  middle  one  as  Eastbor- 
ough  Centre,  and  the  easterly  one  as  Mason's  Corner. 
West  Eastborough  was  exclusively  a  farming  section,  hav 
ing  no  store  or  post  office.  As  the  extreme  western  bound 
ary  was  only  a  mile  and  a  half  from  Eastborough  Centre, 
the  farmers  of  the  western  section  of  the  town  were  well 
accommodated  at  the  Centre.  The  middle  section  con 
tained  the  railroad  station,  at  which  five  trains  a  day,  each 
way,  to  and  from  Boston,  made  regular  stops.  The  Centre 
contained  the  Town  Hall,  two  churches,  a  hotel,  and  ex 
press  office,  a  bank,  newspaper  office,  and  several  general 
stores.  Not  very  far  from  the  hotel,  on  a  side  road,  was 
the  Almshouse,  or  Poorhouse,  as  it  was  always  called  by 
the  citizens  of  Eastborough. 

Between  the  Centre  and  Mason's  Corner  was  a  long 
interval  of  three  miles.  The  land  bordering  the  lower  and 
most  direct  route  was,  to  a  great  extent,  hilly  and  rocky, 
or  full  of  sand  and  clay  pits.  The  upper  and  longest  road 
ran  through  a  more  fertile  section.  The  village  of  Mason's 
Corner  contained  the  best  arable  land  in  the  town,  and  the 
village  had  increased  in  population  and  wealth  much  faster 
than  the  other  sections  of  the  town.  To  the  east  of  the  vil- 


MASON'S    CORNER    FOLKS.  X3 

lage  of  Mason's  Corner  lay  the  town  of  Montrose,  and  be 
yond  that  town  was  situated  the  thriving  city  of  Cottonton, 
devoted  largely,  as  its  name  indicated,  to  the  textile  manu 
facturing  industries. 

The  'best  known  and  most  popular  resident  of  Mason's 
Corner  was  Deacon  Abraham  Mason.  He  was  a  retired 
farmer  on  the  shady  side  of  fifty.  He  had  married  young 
and  worked  very  hard,  his  labors  being  rewarded  with  pe 
cuniary  success.  When  a  little  over  fifty,  he  gave  up  active 
farm  work  and  devoted  his  time  to  buying  and  selling  real 
estate,  and  to  church  and  town  affairs,  in  both  of  which  he 
was  greatly  interested.  His  house  stood  about  halfway 
down  a  somewhat  steep  hill,  the  road  over  which,  at  the 
top,  made  a  sharp  turn.  It  was  this  turn  which  had  received 
the  appellation  of  Mason's  Corner  and  from  which  the 
village  eventually  had  taken  its  name. 

Mrs.  Sophia  Mason,  the  Deacon's  wife,  was  a  little  less 
than  fifty  years  of  age.  She  was  a  comely,  bright-need, 
bright-eyed,  and  energetic  woman,  who  had  been  both  a 
loving  wife  and  a  valued  helpmeet  to  her  husband.  Their 
only  living  child  was  a  daughter  named  Huldah  Ann,  about 
nineteen  years  of  age,  and  considered  by  many  to  be  the 
prettiest  and  smartest  girl  in  Mason's  Corner.  The  only 
other  resident  in  Deacon  Mason's  house  was  Hiram  Max 
well,  a  young  man  about  thirty  years  of  age.  He  had  been 
a  farm  hand,  but  had  enlisted  in  1861,  and  served  through 
the  war.  On  his  return  home  he  was  hired  by  Deacon 
Mason  to  do  such  chores  as  required  a  man's  strength,  for 
the  Deacon's  business  took  him  away  from  home  a  great 
deal.  Hiram  was  not  exactly  what  would  be  called  a  pro 
nounced  stutterer  or  stammerer,  but  when  he  was  exoited 
or  had  a  matter  of  more  than  ordinary  importance  to  com 
municate,  a  sort  of  lingual  paralysis  seemed  to  overtake 
him  and  interfered  materially  with  the  vocal  expression  of 
his  thoughts  and  ideas.  Type  would  be  inadequate  to  ex- 


14  QUINCT   ADAMS    SAWYEE. 

press  the  facial  contortions  and  what  might  be  termed  the 
chromatic  scales  of  vocal  expression  in  which  he  often  in 
dulged,  and  they  are,  therefore,  left  for  full  comprehension 
to  those  of  inventive  and  vivid  imaginative  powers.  This 
fact  should  not  be  lost  sight  of  in  following  the  fortunes  of 
this  brave  soldier,  honest  lover,  good  husband,  and  success 
ful  business  man. 

The  Pettengill  homestead  was  situated  on  the  other  side 
of  the  road,  southwest  from  Deacon  Mason's  house. 
Ezekiel's  grandfather  had  left  three  sons,  Abraham,  Isaac, 
and  Jacob,  the  latter  being  Ezekiel's  father.  Abraham  had 
died  when  he  was  a  young  man,  and  Jacob  'had  been  dead 
about  five  years.  Uncle  Ike  was  in  his  seventy-sixth  year, 
and  was  Ezekiel's  only  living  near  relative,  with  the  excep 
tion  of  his  sister  Alice,  who  had  left  home  soon  after  her 
father's  death  and  was  now  employed  as  bookkeeper  in  a 
large  dry  goods  store  in  Boston. 

Ezekiel  was  about  twenty-eight  years  of  age,  being  seven 
years  older  than  .his  sister.  He  was  a  hardy,  strong-willed, 
self-reliant  young  fellow.  He  loved  farming  and  had  re 
solved  to  make  a  better  living  out  of  it  than  his  father  had 
ever  done.  A  strong  incentive  to  win  success  proceeded 
from  the  fact  that  he  had  long  been  in  love  with  "Huldy 
Ann,"  the  Deacon's  daughter,  and  he  had  every  reason  to 
believe  that  his  affection  was  returned,  although  no  formal 
engagement  existed  between  them,  and  marriage  had  never 
been  spoken  of  by  them  or  the  young  lady's  parents. 

Uncle  Ike  Pettengill  had  been  a  successful  business  man1 
in  Boston,  but  at  the  age  of  sixty  had  wearied  of  city  life/ 
and  decided  to  spend  the  rest  of  his  days  in  the  country. 
Despite  the  objections  of  his  wife  and  two  grown  up  daugh 
ters,  he  sold  out  his  business,  conveyed  two-thirds  of  his 
property  to  his  wife  and  children,  and  invested  the  remain 
ing  third  in  an  annuity,  which  gave  him  sufficient  income 
for  a  comfortable  support.  He  did  not  live  at  the  Pettengill 


MASON'S    CORNER    FOLKS.  If 

house,  but  in  a  little  two-roomed  cottage  or  cabin  that  he 
had  'had  built  for  him  on  the  lower  road,  about  halfway 
between  Mason's  Corner  and  Eastborough  Centre.  A 
short  distance  beyond  his  little  house,  a  crossroad,  not  very 
often  used,  connected  the  upper  and  lower  roads.  Uncle 
Ike  had  a  fair-sized  library,  read  magazines  and  weekly 
'papers,  but  never  looked  at  a  daily  newspaper.  His  only 
companions  were  about  two  hundred  hens  and  chickens  and 
a  big  St.  Bernard  dog  which  he  had  named  "Swiss,"  after 
his  native  land. 

The  other  residents  of  the  Pettengill  homestead  were 
two  young  men  named  Jim  and  Bill  Cobb,  who  aided 
Ezekiel  in  his  farm  work,  and  Mandy  Skinner,  the  "help/* 
who  was  in  reality  the  housekeeper  of  the  establishment 
Jim  and  Bill  Cobb  were  orphans,  Jim  being  about  twenty- 
one  and  Bill  three  years  older.  When  young  they  re 
sembled  each  other  very  closely,  for  this  reason  they  had 
been  nicknamed  "Cobb's  Twins,'*  and  the  name  had  clung 
to  them,  even  after  they  had  reached  manhood. 

Mandy  Skinner  was  about  twenty-three,  and  was  the  only 
child  of  Malachi  and  Martha  Skinner.  Her  father  was  dead, 
"but  her  mother  had  married  again  and  was  now  Mrs.  Jonas 
Hawkins,  the  proprietor  of  Mrs.  Hawkins's  boarding  house, 
which  was  situated  in  the  square  opposite  Hill's  grocery, 
and  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  top  of  Mason's  Hill. 
Mandy  had  a  double  burden  upon  her  shoulders.  One  was 
the  care  of  such  a  large  house  and  family,  and  the  other 
was  the  constant  necessity  of  repelling  the  lover-like  Hints 
and  suggestions  of  Hiram  Maxwell,  who  was  always  ready 
and  willing  to  overlook  his  work  at  Deacon  Mason's  so 
that  he  could  run  down  and  see  if  Mandy  wanted  him  to  do 
anything  for  her. 

Hill's  grocery  was  owned  and  carried  on  by  Benoni  Hil! 
and  his  son  Samuel.  Their  residence  was  on  the  easterly 
edge  of  the  town,  'being  next  to  the  one  occupied  by  old 


A  QUINCY  ADAMS    SAWYER. 

Ben  James,  who  was  a  widower  with  one  daughter,  Miss 
'Matilda  James. 

About  a  quarter  of  a  mile  east  of  Hill's  grocery  was  the 
village  church,  presided  over  by  the  Rev.  Caleb  Howe.  He 
had  one  son,  Emmanuel,  who  had  graduated  at  Harvard 
and  had  intended  to  fit  for  the  ministry,  but  his  health  had 
failed  him  and  he  had  temporarily  abandoned  his  studies. 
He  was  a  great  admirer  of  Miss  Lindy  Putnam,  because,  as 
he  said,  she  was  so  pretty  and  accomplished.  But  after 
long  debate  one  evening  at  the  grocery  store,  it  had  been 
decided  without  a  dissenting  vote  that  "the  minister's  son 
was  a  lazy  'good-for-nothing',  and  that  he  wanted  the 
money  more  than  he  did  the  gal."  The  village  schoolhouse 
stood  a  short  distance  eastward  from  the  church.  The 
teacher,  Miss  Seraphina  Cotton,  a  maiden  lady  of  uncertain 
age,  who  boasted  that  the  city  of  Cottonton  was  named  after 
her  grandfather,  boarded  at  the  Rev.  Mr.  Howe's,  and  was 
ardently  attached  to  the  minister's  wife,  who  was  an  invalid 
and  rarely  seen  outside  of  her  home. 

On  the  upper  road,  about  half  a  mile  to  the  west  of  Dea 
con  Mason's,  lived  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Silas  Putnam.  They 
owned  the  largest  house  and  best  farm  at  Mason's  Corner. 
They  were  reputed  to  be  quite  wealthy  and  it  was  known 
for  a  sure  fact  that  their  only  daughter,  Lindy,  was  worth 
one  hundred  thousand  dollars  in  her  own  right,  it  having 
been  left  to  her  'by  her  only  brother,  J.  Jones  Putnam,  who 
had  died  in  Boston  about  five  years  before. 

Mrs.  Hawkins  had  a  large  house,  but  it  was  always  full 
of  boarders,  all  of  the  masculine  gender.  Mrs.  Hawkins 
had  declared  on  several  occasions  that  she'd  "sooner  have 
the  itch  than  a  girl  boarder.''  She  was  a  hard-working 
woman  and  had  'but  one  assistant,  a  young  girl  named 
Betsy  Green,  one  of  whose  sisters  -was  "working  out"  up  at 
Mrs.  Putnam's.  Mrs.  Hawkins's  husband,  his  wife  declared. 


MASON'S    CORNER    FOLKS.  17 

was  "no  account  nohow,"  and  for  the  present  her  estimate 
of  him  must  be  accepted  without  question. 

Among  Mrs.  Hawkins's  twelve  boarders  were  Robert 
Wood  and  Benjamin  Bates,  two  young  men  who  were  na 
tives  of  Montrose.  Bates  was  a  brick  and  stone  mason, 
and  Wood  was  a  carpenter,  and  they  had  been  quite  busily 
'employed  during  the  two  years  they  had  lived  at  Mason's 
Corner. 

Mrs.  Hawkins  owned  a  buggy  and  carryall  and  a  couple 
of  fairly  good  horses.  They  were  cared  for  by  Abner  Stiles. 
He  was  often  called  upon  to  carry  passengers  over  to  the 
railway  station  at  the  Centre,  and  was  the  mail  carrier  be 
tween  the  Centre  and  Mason's  Corner,  for  the  latter  village 
had  a  post  office,  which  was  located  in  Hill's  grocery,  Mr. 
Benoni  Hill  being  the  postmaster. 

Since  his  return  from  the  war  Mr.  Obadiah  Strout  had 
'been  Mrs.  Hawkins's  star  boarder.  He  sat  at  the  head  of 
tlie  table  and  acted  as  moderator  during  the  wordy  dis 
cussions  which  accompanied  every  meal.  Abner  Stiles  be 
lieved  implicitly  in  the  manifest  superiority  of  Obadiah 
Strout  over  the  other  residents  of  Mason's  Corner.  He 
was  his  firm  ally  and  henchman,  serving  him  as  a  dog  does 
his  master,  not  for  pay,  but  because  he  loves  the  service. 

Mr.  Strout  was  often  called  the  "Professor"  because  he 
was  the  singing-master  of  the  village  and  gave  lessons  in 
instrumental  and  vocal  music.  The  love  of  music  was  an 
other  bond  of  union  between  Strout  and  Stiles,  for  the  lat- 
!ter  was  a  skilful,  if  not  educated,  performer  on  the  violin. 

The  Professor  was  about  forty  years  of  age,  stout  in  per 
son,  with  smooth  shaven  face  and  florid  complexion.  In 
Eastborough  town  matters  he  was  a  general  factotum.  He 
had  been  an  undertaker's  assistant  and  had  worked  for  the 
superintendent  of  the  Poorhouse.  In  due  season  and  in 
turn  he  had  been  appointed  to  and  had  filled  the  positions  of 
fence  viewer,  road  inspector,  hog  reeve,  pound  keeper,  and 


18  QUINCY    ADAMS    SAWYER. 

the  year  previous  he  had  been  chosen  tax  collector.  Abner 
Stiles  said  that  there  "wasn't  a  better  man  in  town  for 
selectman  and  he  knew  he'd  get  there  one  of  these  days." 

To  those  residents  of  Mason's  Corner  whose  names  have 
been  given,  whose  homes  have  been  described  and  some 
whose  personal  peculiarities  have  been  portrayed,  must  be 
added  a  late  arrival.  The  new-comer  whose  advent  in  town 
during  Christmas  week  had  caused  so  much  discussion  at 
the  rehearsal  in  the  old  red  schoolhouse,  and  whose  liber 
ality  in  providing  a  hot  supper  with  all  the  fixings  for  the 
sleighing  party  from  Mason's  Corner,  when  it  arrived  at 
the  Eagle  Hotel  at  Eastborough  Centre,  had  won,  at  a 
bound,  the  hearts  of  the  majority  of  the  younger  residents 
of  Mason's  Corner.  The  village  gossips  wondered  who  he 
was,  what  he  was,  what  he  came  for,  and  how  long  he 
intended  to  stay.  If  these  questions  had  been  asked  of  him 
personally,  he  might  have  returned  answers  to  the  first 
three  questions,  but  it  would  have  been  beyond  his  power 
to  have  answered  the  fourth  inquiry  at  that  time.  But  the 
sayings  and  doings  of  certain  individuals,  and  a  chain  of 
circumstances  not  of  his  own  creation  and  -beyond  his  per 
sonal  control,  conspired  to  keep  him  there  for  a  period  of 
nearly  four  months.  During  that  time  certain  things  were 
said  and  done,  certain  people  were  met  and  certain  events 
took  place  which  changed  the  entire  current  of  this  young 
man's  future  life,  which  shows  plainly  that  we  are  all  crea 
tures  of  circumstance  and  that  a  man's  success  or  failure 
?n  life  may  often  depend  as  much  or  even  more  upon  his^ 
environment  than  upon  himself. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE    CONCERT   IX   THE   TOWN    HALL. 

IT  was  the  evening  of  New  Year's  day,  186 — .  The 
ing  people,  in  fact  nearly  all  the  people  of  the  three 
villages  forming  the  town  of  Eastborough,  were  assembled 
in  the  Town  Hall  at  Eastborough  Lentre.  The  evening  was 
pleasant  and  this  fact  had  contributed  to  draw  together  the 
largest  audience  ever  assembled  in  that  hall.  Not  only  was 
every  seat  taken,  'but  the  aisles  were  also  crowded,  while 
many  of  the  younger  citizens  had  been  lifted  up  to  eligible 
positions  in  the  wide  window  seats  of  the  dozen  great  win 
dows  on  three  sides  of  the  large  hall. 

The  large  attendance  was  also  due  in  part  to  the  fact 
that  a  new  and  original  musical  composition  by  Mr.  Strout, 
the  singing-master,  would  be  sung  for  the  first  time  in  pub 
lic.  Again,  it  had  been  whispered  up  at  Hill's  grocery  at 
Mason's  Corner  that  the  young  city  fellow  who  was  board 
ing  at  Deacon  Mason's  was  going  to  be  present,  and  this 
rumor  led  to  a  greatly  increased  attendance  from  that 
village. 

The  audience  was  a  typical  one  of  such  communities  at 
that  period;  horny-handed  farmers  with  long  shaggy  beards 
and  unkempt  hair,  dressed  in  ill-fitting  black  suits ;  matronly 
looking  farmers'  wives  in  their  Sunday  best;  rosy-cheeked 
daughters  full  of  fun  and  vivacity  and  chattering  like  mag 
pies;  tall,  lank,  awkward,  bashful  sons,  and  red-haired, 
black-haired,  and  tow-headed  urchins  of  both  sexes,  the 
latter  awaiting  the  events  of  the  evening  with  the  wild  an- 


»0  QUINCY   ADAMS    SAWYER.* 

ticipations  that  are  usually  called  forth  only  by  the  advent 
of  a  circus. 

The  members  of  the  chorus  were  seated  on  the  large  plat 
form,  the  girls  being  on  the  right  and  the  fellows  on  the 
left.  A  loud  hum  of  conversation  arose  from  the  audience 
and  chorus,  a  constant  turning  over  and  rattling  of  pro 
grammes  gave  a.  cheerful  and  animated  appearance  to  the 
scene.  The  centre  door  at  the  rear  of  the  platform  was 
opened  and  all  eyes  were  turned  in  that  direction,  the  chorus 
twisting  their  necks  or  turning  half  'round  in  their  seats. 

Professor  Strout  entered  and  was  greeted  with  a  loud 
•burst  of  applause.  He  wore  a  dress  suit  that  he  had  hired 
in  Boston,  and  there  was  a  large  white  rose  in  the  lapel  of 
his  coat.  He  was  accompanied  by  Miss  Tilly  James,  the 
pianist,  who  wore  a  handsome  wine-colored  silk  dress  that 
had  been  made  for  the  occasion  by  the  best  dressmaker  in 
Cottonton.  As  she  took  her  place  at  the  piano  and  ran  her 
fingers  over  the  keys,  she,  too,  came  in  for  a  liberal  round 
of  applause.  Professor  Strout  bowed  to  the  audience,  then 
turning  his  back  upon  them,  he  stood  with  baton  uplifted 
facing  the  chorus  and  waiting  the  advent  of  the  town  com 
mittee.  Every  eye  in  the  audience  was  fixed  upon  the  pro 
gramme.  It  contained  thu  information  that  the  first  num 
ber  was  an  opening  chorus  entitled,  "Welcome  to  the  Town 
Committee,"  written  and  composed  by  Professor  Qbadiah 
Strout  and  sung  for  the  first  time  with  great  success  at  the 
last  annual  concert. 

The  door  at  the  rear  of  the  platform  was  opened  again 
and  Deacon  Abraham  Mason,  the  Rev.  Caleb  Howe,  and 
Mr.  Benoni  Hill,  the  members  of  the  town  committee  on 
singing  school,  entered.  Deacon  Mason  was  accompanied 
by  Quincy  Adams  Sawyer,  and  all  eyes  were  fastened  on 
the  couple  as  they  took  their  seats  at  the  right  of  the  plat 
form,  the  Rev.  Mr.  Howe  and  Mr.  Hill  being  seated  on  the 


THE   CONCERT   IN   THE   TOWN   HALL.  21 

Quincy  Adams  Sawyer  in  appearance  and  dress  was  a 
marked  contrast  to  the  stout,  hardy,  and  rugged  young 
farmers  of  Eastborough.  He  had  dark  hair,  dark  eyes,  and 
a  small  black  mustache  curled  at  the  ends.  His  face  was 
pallid,  but  there  was  a  look  of  determination  in  the  firmly 
set  jaw,  resolute  mouth,  and  sharp  eye.  He  wore  a  dark 
suit  with  Prince  Albert  coat.  Upon  one  arm  hung  an  over 
coat  of  light-colored  cloth.  He  wore  light-brown  kid 
gloves  and  in  one  hand  carried  a  light-colored  Kossuth  hat. 

As  soon  as  the  committee  and  their  guest  had  taken  their 
seats,  Professor  Strout  tapped  upon  his  music  stand  with 
his  baton  and  the  members  of  the  Eastborough  Singing 
Society  arose  to  their  feet  with  that  total  disregard  of  uni 
formity  and  unanimity  of  motion  that  always  characterizes 
a  body  of  undrilled  performers.  Each  girl  was  obliged  to 
look  at  her  own  dress  and  that  of  her  neighbor  to  see  if 
they  were  all  right,  while  each  fellow  felt  it  absolutely  nec 
essary  to  shuffle  his  feet,  pull  down  his  cuffs,  pull  up  his  col 
lar,  and  arrange  'lids  necktie.  Despite  the  confusion  and 
individual  preparations  the  chorus  took  the  opening  note 
promptly  and  sang  the  "Welcome  to  the  Town  Committee" 
with  a  spirit  and  precision  which  well  merited  the  applause 
it  received.  The  words  were  not  printed  on  the  programme, 
but  they  conveyed  the  idea  that  the  members  of  the  sing 
ing  class  were  very  much  obliged  to  the  town  committee 
for  hiring  a  singing-master  and  paying  his  sala.^.  Also 
that  the  members  of  the  chorus  had  studied  hard  to  learn  to 
sing  and  would  do  their  best  that  evening  as  a  return  for 
the  favors  'bestowed  upon  them  'by  the  town. 

Professor  Strout  then  advanced  to  the  edge  of  the  plat 
form  and  called  the  attention  of  the  audience  to  the  second 
number  upon  the  programme  which  read,  "Address  by 
Abraham  Mason,  Esq."  Prof.  Strout  added  that  by  special 
request  Deacon  Mason's  remarks  would  relate  to  the  sub 
ject  of  "Education."  The  Deacon  drew  a  large  red  ban- 


22  QUINCY   ADAMS   SAWYER 

danna  handkerchief  from  his  pocket,  wiped  the  perspira 
tion  from  his  forehead,  blew  his  nose  vigorously,  and  then 
advanced  to  the  centre  of  the  platform  near  the  music  stand. 

"I  dote  on  eddikation,"  he  began;  "it  makes  the  'taxes 
high;  I've  lived  in  this  town  man  and  boy  more'n  fifty  year 
and  I  never  saw  them  anythin'  but  high."  A  general 
laugh  greeted  this  remark.  "But  when  I'm  in  town  meet- 
in'  I  allus  votes  an  aye  to  make  our  schools  as  good  as 
those  found  in  neighborin'  towns,  and  none  of  them  are 
any  too  good.  For  my  political  actions  I'm  proud  to  give 
my  grounds,  for  I  never  cast  a  vote  that  I  was  ashamed  to 
give  my  reasons  for."  A  'burst  of  applause  followed  this 
declaration. 

"Years  back  when  I  was  young,  we  had  no  modern 
notions.  We  had  to  'be  satisfied  with  the  three  R's,  Readin', 
'Ritin',  and  'Rithmetic,  and  larnin'  was  dealt  out  in  rather 
meagre  potions,  'bout  three  months  in  the  winter  after  the 
wood  was  cut,  sawed  and  split,  and  piled  up  in  the  wood 
shed.  We  allus  had  to  work  in  the  summer,  make  hay  and 
fill  the  barn  in,  and  not  till  winter  come  could  get  a  speck 
of  larnin/  and  then  it  took  most  of  our  time  to  pile  wood 
into  the  stove  and  settle  our  personal  accounts  with  the 
teacher."  An  audible  titter  ran  through  the  audience  at  this 
sally.  "And  yet  when  I  was  young,  though  this  commun 
ity  was  rather  behind  in  letters,  no  people  in  the  land  could 
say  they  were  our  'betters.  But  now  the  world  is  changed, 
we  live  without  such  grubbin',  learn  Latin,  French,  and 
Greek,  how  to  walk  Spanish,  talk  Dutch,  draw  picters, 
'keep  books,  fizziology,  and  lots  of  other  'ologies  and  much 
piano  drubbin'.  Now  what  brought  this  about?  I  think 
I  nave  a  notion;  you  know  the  immergrants  from  about 
every  country  under  the  sun  have  piled  across  the  ocean. 
They've  done  the  diggin'  and  other  rough  work  and  we've 
thruv  on  their  labor.  I  have  some  ready  cash.  Mr.  Strout 
comes  'round  and  gets  some  oft  every  year,  and  likewise 


THE   CONCERT   IN   THE   TOWN  HALL.  23 

my  neighbor  has  some  put  aside  for  a  rainy  day."  Many 
of  the  audience  who  probably  had  nothing  laid  aside 
glanced  at  the  well-to-do  farmers  who  'had  the  reputation  of 
being  well  fixed  as  regards  this  world's  goods.  "Perhaps 
I'm  doin'  wrong,  tout  I  would  like  my  darter  to  know  as 
much  as  those  that's  likely  to  come  arter.  But  if  the  world 
keeps  on  its  progress  so  bewild'rin'  and  they  put  some  more 
'ologies  into  the  schools  together  with  cabinet  organs  and 
fife  and  drum,  I'm  afraid  it  will  cost  my  darter  more  than 
it  did  me  to  eddikate  her  childrin.", 

A  storm  of  applause  filled  the  hall  when  the  Deacon  con 
cluded  his  remarks.  As  he  resumed  his  chair,  Quincy 
handed  him  a  tumbler  of  water  that  the  had  poured  from  a 
pitcher  that  stood  upon  a  table  near  the  piano.  This  act 
of  courtesy  was  seen  and  appreciated  by  the  audience  and  a 
loud  clapping  of  hands  followed.  At  the  commencement 
of  the  Deacon's  speech,  the  Professor  had  left  the  platform, 
for  it  gave  him  an  opportunity  for  an  intended  change  of 
costume,  for  which  time  could  be  found  at  no  other  place 
on  the  programme.  It  was  a  marvellous  rig  that  he  wore 
when  he  reappeared.  A  pair  of  white  duck  pantaloons, 
stiffly  starched,  were  strapped  under  a  pair  of  substantial, 
well-greased,  cowhide  'boots.  The  waistcoat  was  of  bright- 
red  cloth  with  brass  buttons.  The  long-tailed  blue  broad 
cloth  coat  was  also  supplied  with  big  'brass  'buttons.  He 
wore  a  high  linen  dickey  and  a  necktie  made  of  a  small  silk 
American  flag.  On  his  head  he  had  a  cream-colored,  woolly 
plug  hat  and  carried  in  his  hand  a  baton  resembling  a  small 
barber's  pole,  having  alternate  stripes  of  red,  white,  and 
blue  with  gilded  ends. 

The  appearance  of  this  apparition  of  Uncle  Sam  was 
received  with  cries,  cheers,  and  loud  clapping  of  hands.  The 
Professor  bowed  repeatedly  in  response  to  this  ovation,  and 
it  was  a  long  time  before  he  could  make  himself  heard  by 
the  audience.  At  last  he  said  in  a  loud  voice: 


24  QUINCY  ADAMS    SAWYER. 

"The  audience  will  find  the  words  of  number  three 
printed  on  the  last  page  of  the  programme,  and  young  and 
old  are  respectfully  invited  to  jine  in  the  chorus." 

A  fluttering  of  programmes  followed  and  this  is  what  the 
audience  found  on  the  last  page,  "Hark!  and  Hear  the  Eagle 
iScream,  a  new  and  original  American  national  air  written, 
[composed,  and  sung  for  the  first  time  in  public  by  Professor 
Obadiah  Strout,  author  of  last  season's  great  success,  'We/ 
come  to  the  Town  Committee.' " 

I. 

They  say  our  wheat's  by  far  the  best; 
Our  Injun  corn  will  bear  the  test; 
Our  butter,  beef,  and  pork  and  cheese, 
The  furriner's  appetite  can  please. 
The  'beans  and  fishballs  that  we  can 
Will  keep  alive  an  Englishman; 
While  many  things  I  can't  relate 
He  must  buy  from  us  or  emigrate. 


CHORUS 


Raise  your  voices,  swing  the  banners, 
Pound  the  drum-s  and  bang  pianners; 
Blow  the  fife  and  shriek  for  freedom, 
'Meriky  is  bound  to  lead  'em. 
Emigrate!  ye  toiling  millions! 
Sile  enuf  for  tens  of  billions! 
Land  of  honey,  buttermilk,  cream; 
Hark!  and  hear  the  eagle  scream. 

II. 

In  manufactures,  too,  we're  some; 
Take  rubber  shoes  and  chewing  gum; 


IT    WAS    A    MARVELLOUS     RIG    THAT   HE   WORE   WHEN   HE   REAPPEARED. 


THE  CONCERT  IN    THE  TOWN  HALL.  25 

In  cotton  cloth,  and  woollen,  too, 

In  time  we  shall  outrival  you; 

Our  ships  with  ev'ry  wind  and  tide, 

With  England's  own  will  sail  beside, 

In  ev'ry  port  our  flag  unfurled, 

When  the  Stars  and  Stripes  will  rule  the  world. 
CHORUS  : 

III. 

< 

For  gold  and  silver,  man  and  woman, 

For  things  that's  raised,  'made,  dug,  or  human, 

'Meriky's  the  coming  nation; 

She's  bound  to  conquer  all  creation! 

Per'aps  you  call  this  brag  and  bluster; 

No,  'taint  nuther,  for  we  muster 

The  best  of  brain,  the  mighty  dollar; 

We'll  lead  on,  let  others  f oiler. 
CHORUS  : 

Professor  Strout  sang  the  solo  part  of  the  song  himself. 
The  singing  society  and  many  of  the  audience  joined  in  the 
chorus.  Like  many  teachers  of  vocal  music,  the  Professor 
had  very  little  voice  himself,  but  he  knew  how  to  make 
the  best  possible  use  of  what  he  did  possess.  But  the  patri 
otic  sentiment  of  the  words,  the  eccentric  make-up  of  the 
singer,  his  comical  contortions  and  odd  grimaces,  and  what 
was  really  a  bright,  tuneful  melody  won  a  marked  success 
for  both  song  and  singer.  Encore  followed  encore.  Like 
many  more  cultured  audiences  in  large  cities  the  one  as 
sembled  in  Eastborough  Town  Hall  seemed  to  think  that 
there  was  no  limit  to  a  free  concert  and  that  they  were 
entitled  to  all  they  could  get.  But  the  Professor  himself 
fixed  the  limit.  When  the  song  had  been  sung  through 
three  times  he  ran  up  the  centre  aisle  of  the  platform  and 
facing  the  audience,  he  directed  the  chorus,  holding  the 


26  QUINCY    ADAMS    SAWYER. 

variegated  baton  in  one  hand  and  swinging  his  woolly  plug 
hat  around  his  head  with  the  other.  At  the  close,  amid 
screams,  cheers,  and  clapping  of  hands,  he  turned'  upon  his 
heel,  dashed  through  the  door  and  disappeared  from  sight. 

The  next  number  upon  the  programme  was  a  piano  solo 
by  Miss  Tilly  James.  Nothing  could  have  pleased  her  audi 
ence  any  better  than  the  well-known  strains  of  the  ever,, 
popular  "Maiden's  Prayer."  In  response,  to  an  encore 
which  Quincy  originated,  and  dexterously  led,  Miss  James 
played  the  overture  to  Rossini's  ''William  Tell"  without 
notes.  A  fact  which  was  perceived  by  the  few,  but  un 
noticed  t>y  the  many. 

At  the  close  of  .these  instrumental  selections,  the  Pro 
fessor  reappeared  in  evening  costume  and  again  assumed 
the  directorship  of  the  concert.  Robert  Wood  had  a  pon 
derous  'bass  voice,  which  if  not  highly  cultivated  was  highly 
effective,  and  he  sang  "Simon  the  Cellarer"  to  great  ac 
ceptation.  Next  followed  a  number  of  selections  sung 
without  accompaniment  by  a  male  quartette  composed  of 
Cobb's  twins,  who  were  both  tenors,  Benjamin  Bates,  and 
Robert  Wood.  This  feature  was  loudly  applauded  and  one 
old  farmer  remarked  to  his  neighbor,  who  was  evidently 
deaf,  in  a  loud  voice  that  was  heard  all  over  the  hall,  "That's 
the  kind  of  music  that  fetches  me,"  which  declaration  was  a 
signal  for  another  encore. 

The  singing  society  then  sang  a  barcarolle,  the  words  of 
the  first  line  being,  "Of  the  sea,  our  yacht  is  the  pride."  It 
went  over  the  heads  of  most  of  the  audience,  but  was  greatly 
appreciated  by  the  limited  few  who  were  acquainted  with 
the  difficulties  of  accidentals,  syncopations,  and  inverted 
musical  phrases. 

According  to  the  programme  the  next  feature  was  to  be 
a  duet  entitled  "Over  the  Bridge,"  composed  by  Jewell  and 
sung  by  Arthur  Scates  and  Miss  Lindy  Putnam.  The  Pro- 


THE   CONCERT   IN   THE   TOWN  HALL.  27 

fessor  stepped  forward  and  waved  his  hand  to  quiet  the 
somewhat  noisy  assemblage. 

"The  next  number  will  have  to  be  omitted,"  he  said, 
'"because  Mr.  Scates  is  home  sick  abed.  The  doctor  says 
he's  got  a  bad  case  of  quinsy,"  with  a  marked  emphasis  on 
the  last  word,  which,  however,  failed  to  make  a  point.  "In 
response  to  requests,  one  verse  of  'Hark!  and  Hear  the) 
Eagle  Scream'  will  be  sung  to  take  the  place  of  the  piece 
that's  left  out." 

While  the  Professor  was  addressing  the  audience,  Quincy 
had  whispered  something  in  Deacon  Mason's  ear  which 
caused  the  latter  to  smile  and  nod  his  head  approvingly. 
Quincy  arose  and  reached  the  Professor's  side  just  as  the 
latter  finished  speaking  and  turned  towards  the  chorus. 
Quincy  said  something  in  a  low  tone  to  the  Professor  which 
caused  Mr.  Strout  to  shake  his  head  in  the  negative  in  a 
most  pronounced  manner.  Quincy  spoke  again  and  looked 
towards  Miss  Putnam,  who  was  seated  in  the  front  row, 
and  whose  face  wore  a  somewhat  disappointed  look. 

Again  the  Professor  shook  his  head  by  way  of  negation 
and  the  words,  "It  can't  be  did,"  were  distinctly  audible  to 
the  majority  of  (both  singing  society  and  audience,  at  the 
same  time  a  -look  of  contempt  spread  over  the  singing- 
master's  face.  Quincy  perceived  it  and  was  nettled  'by  it. 
He  was  not  daunted,  however,  nor  to  be  shaken  from  his 
purpose,  so  he  said  in  a  loud  voice,  which  was  heard  in  all 
parts  of  the  hall:  "I  know  the  song,  and  will  sing  it  if 
Miss  Putnam  and  the  audience  are  willing." 

With  a  smile  upon  her  face,  Miss  Putnam  nodded  her 
acquiescence.  All  the  townspeople  had  heard  of  Quincy's 
liberality  in  providing  a  hot  supper  for  the  sleighing  party 
the  night  before,  and  cries  of  "Go  ahead!  Give  him  a 
chance!  We  want  to  hear  him!"  and  "Don't  disappoint 
Miss  Putnam,"  were  heard  from  all  parts  of  the  hall.  The 
Professor  was  obliged  to  give  in.  He  sat  down  with  a 


28  QUINCY   ADAMS    SAWYER. 

disgusted  look  upon  his  face,  and  from  that  moment  war 
to  the  knife  was  declared  between  these  champions  of  city 
and  country  civilization. 

Mr.  Sawyer  went  to  the  piano,  opened  Miss  James's  copy 
of  the  music  and  placed  it  upon  the  music  rack  before  her, 
isaying  a  few  words  to  her  which  caused  her  to  smile< 
fQuincy  then  approached  Lindy,  opened  her  music  at  the 
proper  place  and  passed  it  to  her.  Next  he  took  her  hand 
and  led  her  to  the  front  of  the  platform.  These  little  acts 
of  courtesy  and  politeness,  performed  in  an  easy,  graceful, 
and  self-possessed  manner,  were  seen  iby  all  and  won  a 
round  of  applause. 

The  duet  was  beautifully  sung.  Quincy  had  a  fine  well- 
trained  tenor  voice,  while  Miss  Putnam's  mezzo-soprano 
was  full  and  melodious  and  her  rendition  fully  as  artistic 
as  that  of  her  companion.  One,  two,  three,  four,  five,  six 
encores  followed  each  other  in  quick  succession,  in  spite  of 
Professor  Strout's  endeavors  to  quell  the  applause  and 
take  up  the  next  number.  The  ovation  given  earlier  in  the 
evening  to  Professor  Strout  was  weak  in  comparison  with 
that  vouchsafed  to  Quincy  and  Lindy  when  they  took  their 
seats.  In  vain  did  the  Professor  strive  to  make  himself 
heard.  Audience  and  chorus  seemed  to  be  of  one  mind. 
The  Professor,  his  face  as  red  as  a  beet,  turned  to  Ezekiel 
Pettengill  and  said: 

"That  was  a.  mighty  impudent  piece  of  business,  don't 
you  think  so?" 

"They're  both  mighty  fine  singers,"  Ezekiel  responded 
"in  a  rather  unsympathetic  tone. 

Quincy  realized  that  something  must  be  done  to  satisfy 
the  demands  of  the  now  thoroughly  excited  audience. 
Going  to  Miss  James,  he  asked  her  a  question  in  a  low 
voice,  in  reply  to  which  she  nodded  affirmatively.  He  next 
sought  Miss  Putnam  and  evidently  asked  her  the  same 
question,  receiving  a  similar  answer.  Then  he  led  her  for- 


THE  CONCERT  IN  THE  TOWN   HALL.  29 

ward,  and  she  sang"  the  opening  part  of  "Listen  to  the 
Mocking  Bird."  After  they  had  sung-  the  chorus  it  was 
repeated  on  the  piano  and  Quincy  electrified  the  audience 
by  whistling  it,  introducing  all  the  trills,  staccatos,  and 
roulades  that  he  had  heard  so  many  times  come  from  under 
Billy  Morris's  big  mustache  at  the  little  Opera  House  on 
Washington  Street,  opposite  Milk,  run  by  the  Morris 
Brothers,  Johnny  Pell,  and  Mr.  Trowbridge,  and  when  he 
finished  there  flashed  through  his  mind  a  pleasant  memory 
of  Dr.  Ordway  and  his  ^Eolians.  An  encore  was  responded 
to,  but  the  tumult  still  continued.  Turning  to  Ezekiel, 
Strout  said: 

"Ain't  it  a  cussed  shame  to  spoil  a  first-class  concert  this 
way?" 

"He's  a  mighty  fine  whistler,"  replied  Ezekiel  in  the 
same  tone  that  he  had  used  before. 

Finally  to  quiet  their  exuberance  Quincy  was  obliged  to 
say  a  few  words,  which  were  evidently  what  the  audience 
was  waiting  for. 

"Ladies  and  gentlemen,"  he  said,  "the  hour  is  getting 
late  and  there  is  another  number  on  the  programme.  Miss 
Putnam  is  tired  and  I  shall  have  to  wet  my  whistle  before 
I  can  use  it  again.  I  thank  you  for  your  kind  indulgence 
and  applause." 

This  little  speech  pleased  the  audience.  It  was  down  to 
their  level,  with  "no  sign  of  stuckupativeness  about  it,"  as 
one  country  girl  remarked  to  her  chum.  Quincy  'bowed, 
the  audience  laughed,  and  quiet  was  restored. 

The  Professor  'had  fidgeted,  fumed,  and  fussed  during 
Quincy's  occupancy  of  the  platform.  He  now  arose  with 
feelings  impossible  to  express  and  took  up  his  baton  to  lead 
the  closing  chorus.  He  -brought  it  down  with  such  a 
whack  upon  the  music  stand  that  it  careened,  tottered,  and 
fell  to  the  platform  with  a  crash.  Tilly  James  leaned  over 
and  whispered  to  Huldy  Mason:  "The  Professor  seems  to 


30  QUINCY   ADAMS   SAWYER. 

have  a  bad  attack  of  Quincy,  too."  And  the  two  girls 
smothered  their  laughs  in  their  handkerchiefs.  If  the  sing 
ing  society  had  not  'been  so  well  acquainted  with  the  dosing 
chorus  the  Professor  certainly  would  have  thrown  them 
out  by  his  many  mistakes  in  beating  time.  The  piece  was  a 
"sleighride"  song.  The  Professor  forgot  to  give  the  signal 
for  the  ringing  of  the  sleigh  bells,  but  the  members  of  the 
singing  society  did  not,  and  their  introduction,  which  was 
unexpected  by  the  audience,  to  use  a  theatrical  term, 
"brought  down  the  house."  The  number  was  well  ren* 
dered,  despite  the  manifest  defects  in  leadership.  The  con 
cert  came  to  a  close. 

Deacon  Mason  and  his  wife,  accompanied  by  their 
daughter,  Huldy,  and  Rev.  Mr.  Howe,  occupied  a  double 
sleigh,  as  did  Hiram,  Mandy,  and  Cobb's  twins.  Another 
double-seated  conveyance  contained  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Benoni 
Hill,  their  son,  Samuel,  and  Miss  Tilly  James.  Quincy  also 
had  accommodations  for  four  in  his  sleigh,  but  its  only 
occupants  were  Miss  Putnam  and  himself.  Abner  Stiles 
sat  on  the  front  seat  of  another  double-seated  sleigh,  while 
the  Professor  and  Ezekiel  were  on  the  back  one;  the  re 
mainder  of  the  Mason's  Corner  folks  occupied  the  big 
barge  which  had  been  used  for  the  sleigh  ride  the  night 
before. 

The  barge  led  the  procession  to  Mason's  Corner, 
followed  by  the  vehicles  previously  mentioned  and  scores 
of  others  containing  residents  of  Mason's  Corner,  whose 
names  and  faces  are  alike  unknown.  By  a  strange  fatality, 
the  sleigh  containing  the  Professor  and  Ezekiel  was  the 
last  in  the  line.  Ezekiel  was  inwardly  elated  that  Mr.  Saw 
yer  had  gone  home  with  Lindy  instead  of  with  Deacon 
Mason's  party.  Strout's  bosom  held  no  feelings  of  elation. 
He  did  not  seem  to  care  whether  the  concert  was  consid 
ered  a  success  or  not.  He  had  but  one  thought  in  his  mind, 


THE  CONCERT  IN  THE  TOWN  HALL.  81 

and  that  was  the  "daring  impudence  of  that  city  feller." 
Turning  to  Ezekiel,  he  said: 

'Til  get  even  with  that  city  chap  the  next  time  I  meet 
him.  As  I  said  last  night,  Pettengill,  this  town  ain't  big 
enough  to  -hold  tooth  on  us  and  one  on  us  has  got  to  git." 

As  he  said  this,  he  leaned  back  in  the  sleigh  and  puffed 
his  cigar  savagely  while  Ezekiel  was  wondering  if  Huldv\ 
was  thinking  half  as  much  about  him  as  he  was  about  her, 


CHAPTER  IV. 

ANCESTRY    VERSUS    PATRIOTISM. 

FOUR  days  had  passed  since  the  concert  in  the  Town 
Hall  at  Eastborough.  The  events  of  that  evening  had 
been  freely  discussed  i^  barn  and  workshop,  at  table  and  at 
the  various  stores  in  Eastborough  and  surrounding  towns, 
for  quite  a  number  had  been  present  who  were  not  residents 
of  the  town.  All  interest  in  it  had  not,  however,  passed 
away  as  subsequent  occurrences  proved. 

It  was  the  morning  of  the  fifth  of  January.  Benoni  Hill, 
who  ran  the  only  grocery  store  at  Mason's  Corner,  was 
behind  his  counter  and  with  the  aid  of  his  only  son,  Samuel, 
was  attending  to  the  wants  of  several  customers. 

While  thus  engaged,  Miss  Tilly  James  entered,  and 
young  Samuel  Hill  forgot  to  ask  the  customer  on  whom  he 
had  been  waiting  the  usual  question,  "Anything  else, 
ma'am?"  so  anxious  was  he  to  speak  to  and  wait  upon  the 
pretty  Miss  James,  whose  bright  eyes,  dark  curly  hair,  and 
witty  remarks  had  attracted  to  her  side  more  suitors  than 
had  fallen  to  the  lot  of  any  other  young  girl  in  the  village. 
As  yet  she  had  evinced  no  especial  liking  for  any  particu 
lar  one  of  the  young  men  who  flocked  about  her,  and  this 
fact  had  only  served  to  increase  their  admiration  for  her 
and  to  spur  them  on  to  renewed  efforts  to  win  her  favor. 

"Do  you  know,  Miss  James,"  said  Samuel,  "I  can't  get 
it  out  of  my  ears  yet."  As  he  said  this,  he  leaned  over  the 
counter,  and  being  a  brave  young  man,  looked  straig-ht  into 
Miss  James's  smiling  face. 


THE   BARGE   LED  THE   PROCESSION   TO  MASON'S  CORNER.' 


ANCESTRY   VERSUS   PATRIOTISM.  83 

"If  all  home  remedies  'have  failed,"  said  Tilly,  "why  don't 
you  go  to  Boston  and  have  a  doctor  examine  them?" 

"What  a  joker  you  are!"  remarked  Samuel;  "I  believe 
you  will  crack  a  joke  on  the  minister  the  day  you  are  mar 
ried." 

"It  may  be  my  last  chance,"  rejoined  Tilly.  "Mother 
says  the  inside  of  a  boiled  onion  put  into  the  ear  is  good  for 
some  troubles;  give  me  a  pound  of  tea,  Oolong  and  green 
mixed,  same  as  we  always  have." 

As  Samuel  passed  the  neatly  done  up  package  to  Miss 
James,  he  leaned  across  the  counter  again  and  said  in  a 
low  voice,  "You  know  what  is  in  my  ears,  Miss  James. 
How  beautifully  you  played  for  Mr.  Sawyer  when  he 
whistled  'Listen  to  the  Mocking  Bird.'  I  don't  think  I  shall 
ever  forget  it." 

"Well,  I  don't  know  about  the  playing,  Mr.  Hill.  I  came 
near  losing  my  place  several  times,  because  I  wanted  so 
much  to  hear  him  whistle." 

During  this  conversation  Tilly  and  Samuel  had  been  so 
preoccupied  that  they  had  not  noticed  the  entrance  of  a 
new-comer  and  his  approach  towards  them.  Only  one 
other  customer,  a  little  girl,  was  left  in  the  store,  and  Mr. 
Hill,  Sr.,  had  gone  down  cellar  to  draw  her  a  quart  of 
molasses. 

As  Tilly  uttered  the  words,  "I  wanted  so  much  to  hear 
him  whistle,"  she  heard  behind  her  in  clear,  melodious, 
flute-like  notes,  the  opening  measures  of  "Listen  to  the, 
Mocking  Bird."  Turning  quickly,  she  saw  Mr.  Sawyer, 
standing  beside  her. 

•''Why,  how  do  you  do,  Mr.  Sawyer?  I  am  delighted  to 
see  you  again,"  she  said  in  that  hearty,  whole-soukd  way 
that  was  so  captivating  to  her  country  admirers. 

''The  delight  is  mutual,"  replied  Quincy,  raising  his  hat 
and  bowing1. 

Samuel  Hill  was  evidently  somewhat  disturbed  by  the 


34  QUINCY  ADAMS    SAWYER. 

great  friendliness  oi  the  greetings  that  he  had  just  wit 
nessed.  This  fact  did  not  escape  Tilly's  quick  eye,  and  turn 
ing  to  Mr.  Sawyer  she  said: 

"Have  you  'been  introduced  to  my  friend,  Mr.  Samuel 
Hill?" 

"I  have  not  had  that  pleasure,"  replied  Quincy.  "This 
is  my  first  visit  to  the  store." 

"Then  allow  me,"  continued  Tilly,  "to  present  you  to 
Mr.  Samuel  Hill  and  to  Mr.  Benoni  Hill,  his  father,  both 
valued  friends  of  mine,"  and  she  added,  as  a  roguish  smile 
came  into  her  face,  "as  they  keep  the  only  grocery  store  in 
the  village,  you  will  be  obliged  to  "buy  what  they  have  and 
pay  them  what  they  ask,  unless  you  prefer  a  three-mile 
tramp  to  Eastborough  Centre." 

"I  hope  you're  enjoyin'  your  stay  at  Mason's  Corner," 
said  Mr.  Benoni  Hill,  "though  I  don't  s'pose  you  city  folks 
find  much  to  please  yer  in  a  country  town,  'specially  in  the 
winter.'' 

"So  far  I  'have  found  two  things  that  have  pleased  me 
very  much,"  replied  Quincy. 

'The  milk  and  eggs,  I  suppose,"  remarked  Tilly. 

"No,"  said  Quincy,  "I  refer  to  'Miss  Lindy  Putnam's 
fine  singing  and  the  beautiful  playing  of  a  young  lady  who 
is  called  Miss  Jaimes." 

"I  have  heard,"  said  Tilly,  "that  you  city  gentlemen  are 
great  flatterers.  That  is  not  the  reason  why  I  am  obliged 
to  leave  you  so  suddenly,  but  the  fact  is  the  tea  caddy  ran 
low  this  morning  and  grandma's  nerves  will  'remain  un 
strung  until  she  gets  a  cup  of  strong  tea." 

With  a  graceful  bow  and  a  parting  wave  of  the  hand  to 
the  three  gentlemen,  the  bright  and  popular  young  lady 
left  the  store. 

"Mr.  Hill,"  said  Quincy,  addressing  the  elder  gentle 
man,  "I've  smoked  all  the  cigars  that  I  brought  from  Bos 
ton,  but  Deacon  Mason  told  me  perhaps  you  had  some 


ANCESTRY   VERSUS   PATRIOTISM.  36 

that  would  suit  me.  I  like  a  good-sized,  strong  cigar  and 
one  that  .burns  freely." 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Hill,  "Professor  Strout  is  the  most  par- 
tikler  customer  I  have  in  cigars ;  he  says  he  always  smokes 
a  pipe  in  the  house,  'cause  it  don't  hang  round  the  room 
'so  long  as  cigar  smoke  does,  but  he  likes  a  good  cigar  to 
smoke  on  the  street  or  when  he  goes  ridin.'  I  just  had 
a  new  box  come  down  for  him  last  night.  Perhaps  some 
of  them  will  satisfy  yer  till  I  can  git  jest  the  kind  yer  want." 

Mr.  Hill  took  his  claw-hammer  and  opening  the  box 
passed  it  to  Quincy,  who  took  one  of  the  cigars  and  lighted 
it.  As  he  did  so  he  glanced  at  the  brand  and  the  names  of 
the  makers,  and  remarked,  "This  is  a  good  cigar,  I've 
smoked  this  brand  before.  What  do  you  ask  for  them?" 

"I  git  ten  cents  straight,  'but  as  Mr.  Strout  always  smokes 
up  the  whole  box  before  he  gits  through,  though  he  don't 
usually  'buy  more  than  five  at  a  time,  I  let  him  have  'em 
for  nine  cents  apiece.  There  ain't  much  made  on  them, 
but  yer  see  I  have  to  obleege  my  customers." 

"You  don't  ask  enough  for  them,"  said  Quincy,  throw 
ing  down  a  twenty-dollar  'bill.  "They  sell  for  fifteen  cents, 
two  for  a  quarter,  in  Boston." 

"How  many  will  you  have?"  asked  Mr.  Hill,  thinking 
that  Boston  must  be  a  paradise  for  shopkeepers,  when  seven 
cents'  profit  could  be  made  on  a  cigar  that  cost  only  eight 
cents. 

"I'll  take  the  whole  box,"  said  Quincy.  "Call  it  ten 
dollars,  that's  cheap  enough.  No  matter  about  the  dis 
count."  As  he  said  this  he  took  half  a  dozen  cigars  from 
the  box  and  placed  them  in  a  silver-mounted,  silk- 
embroidered  cigar  case.  "Please  do  them  up  for  me,  Mr. 
Hill,  and  the  next  time  Hiram  Maxwell  comes  in  he  will 
take  them  down  to  Deacon  Mason's  for  me." 

After  much  rummaging  through  till  and  pocketbook, 
Mr.  Hill  and  his  son  found  ten  dollars  in  change,  which 


86 

was  passed  to  Quincy.  He  stuffed  the  large  wad  of  small 
bills  and  fractional  currency  into  his  overcoat  pocket  and 
sitting1  down  on  a  pile  of  soap  boxes  drummed  on  the  Lower 
one  with  his  'boot  heels  and  puffed  his  cigar  with  evident 
pleasure. 

While  Quincy  was  thus  pleasantly  engaged,  Professor 
Strout  entered  the  store  and  walked  briskly  up  to  the  coun 
ter.  He  did  not  see,  or  if  he  did,  he  did  not  notice,  Quincy 
who  kept  his  place  upon  the  pile  of  soap  boxes.  Strout 
was  followed  by  Abner  Stiles,  Robert  Wood,  and  several 
other  idlers,  who  had  been  standing  on  the  store  platform 
when  the  Professor  arrived. 

"Did  those  cigars  come  down,  Hill?''  asked  Strout  in  his 
usual  pompous  way. 

"Yes !"  replied  Mr.  Hill,  "but  I  guess  you'll  have  to  wait 
till  I  git  another  box  down." 

"What  for?"  asked  Strout  sharply.  "Wa'n't  it  under 
stood  between  us  that  them  cigars  was  to  be  kept  for  me?" 

"That's  so,"  acknowledged  Mr.  Hill,  "but  you  see,  when 
I  told  that  gentleman  on  the  soap  box  over  yonder  that  you 
smoked  them,  he  bought  the  whole  box,  paid  me  a  cent 
more  apiece  than  you  do.  A  dollar's  worth  saving  now 
adays.  He  says  they  sell  for  fifteen  cents,  two  for  a  quarter, 
up  in  Boston." 

"If  he's  so  well  posted  on  Boston  prices,"  growled  Strout, 
"why  didn't  he  pay  them  instead  of  cheatin'  you  out  of  two 
dollars  and  a  half?  I  consider  it  a  very  shabby  trick,  Mr. 
Hill.  I  shall  buy  my  cigars  at  Eastborough  Centre  in  the 
future.  Perhaps  you'll  lose  more  than  that  dollar  in  the 
long  run." 

"Perhaps  the  gentleman  will  let  you  have  some  of  them," 
expostulated  Mr.  Hill,  "till  I  can  get  another  box." 

"All  I  can  say  is,"  said  Strout  in  snappish  tones,  "if  the 
man  who  bought  them  knew  that  you  got  them  for  me,  he 
was  no  gentleman  to  take  the  whole  box.  What  do  yer 


ANCESTRY  VERSUS  PATRIOTISM.  87 

say,  Stiles?"  he  asked,  turning  to  Abner,  who  had  kept  his 
eyes  fixed  on  the  placid  Quincy  since  entering  the  store, 
though  listening  intently  to  what  the  Professor  said. 

"Well,  I  kinder  reckon  I  agree  to  what  you  say,  Pro 
fessor,5'  drawled  Abner,  "unless  the  other  side  has  got  some 
sort  of  an  explanation  to  make.  'Tain't  quite  fair  to  judge 
a  man  without  a  hearin'." 

"Allow  me  to  offer  you  one  of  your  favorite  brand,  Pro 
fessor  Strout,"  said  Quincy,  jumping  down  from  the  soap 
boxes  and  extending  his  cigar  case. 

"No!  thank  you!"  said  Strout,  "I  always  buy  a  box  at  a 
time,  the  same  as  you  do.  Judging  from  the  smell  of  the 
one  you  are  smoking,  I  guess  they  made  a  mistake  on  that 
box  and  sent  second  quality.  Give  me  a  five-cent  plug,  Mr. 
Hill,  if  some  gentleman  hasn't  bought  out  your  whole 
stock.  I  fancy  my  pipe  will  have  to  do  me  till  I  get  a 
chance  to  go  over  to  Eastborough  Centre." 

During  this  conversation  Hiram  Maxwell  had  come  in  to 
do  an  errand  for  Mrs.  Mason,  and  several  more  platform 
idlers,  having  heard  the  Professor's  loud  words,  also 
entered. 

Strout  was  angry.  When  in  that  condition  he  usually 
lost  his  head,  which  he  did  on  this  occasion.  Turning  to 
Quincy  he  said  with  a  voice  full  of  passion: 

"What's  yer  name,  anyway?  You've  got  so  many  of 
them  I  don't  know  which  comes  fust  and  which  last.  Is  it 
Quincy  or  Adams  or  Sawyer?  How  in  thunder  did  you 
get  'em  all,  anyway?  I  s'pose  they  tucked  'em  on  to  you 
when  you  was  a  baby  and  you  was  too  weak  to  kick  at 
being  so  abused." 

At  this  sally  a  loud  laugh  arose  from  the  crowd  gathered 
in  the  store,  and  Abner  Stiles,  who  was  the  Professor's 
henchman  and  man-of-all-work,  cried  out,  "Fust  blood  for 
the  Professor." 

Quincy  faced  the  Professor  with  a  pale  face  and  spoke  in 


38  QUINCY  ADAMS    SAWYER. 

clear,  ringing  tones,  still  holding  his  lighted  cigar  between 
the  fingers  of  his  right  'hand.  When  he  spoke  all  listened 
intently. 

"Your  memory  has  served  you  well,  Mr.  Strout.  You 
have  got  my  names  correct  and  in  the  proper  order,  Ouincy 
Adams  Sawyer.  I  do  not  consider  that  any  child  could  be 
abused  by  being  obliged  to  wear  such  honored  names  as 
those  given  me  by  my  parents.  My  mother  was  a  Quincy, 
and  that  name  is  indissolubly  connected  with  the  history 
and  glory  of  our  common  country.  My  father's  mother  was 
an  Adams,  a  family  that  has  given  two  Presidents  to  the 
United  States.  If  your  knowledge  of  history  is  as  great  as 
your  memory  for  names  you  should  be  aware  of  these  facts, 
but  your  ignorance  of  them  will  not  affect  the  opinion  of 
those  knowing  to  them.  'My  father,  Nathaniel  Adams  Saw 
yer,  has  a  world-wide  reputation  as  a  great  constitutional 
lawyer,  and  I  am  proud  to  bear  his  name,  combined  with 
those  of  my  illustrious  ancestors.  It  is  needless  for  me  to 
add  that  I,  too,  am  connected  with  the  legal  profession/' 

Here  Hiram  Maxwell  called  out,  "First  round  for  Mr. 
Sawyer." 

"Shut  up,  you  dough-head/'  cried  Strout,  his  face  pur 
ple  with  rage.  Turning  to  Quincy  he  said  in  a  choked 
voice,  "My  name  is  Obadiah  Strout,  no  frills  or  folderob 
about  it  either.  That  was  my  father's  name  too,  and  he 
lived  and  died  an  honest  man,  in  spite  of  it.  He  raised 
potatoes  and  one  son,  that  was  me.  When  the  nation  called 
for  volunteers  I  went  to  war  to  save  the  money  bags  of 
such  as  you  that  stayed  at  home.  It  was  such  fellers  as 
vou  that  made  money  out  of  mouldy  biscuits  and  rotten 
beef,  shoddy  clothin',  and  paper- soled'  boots.  It  was  such 
fellers  as  your  father  that  lent  their  money  to  the  govern 
ment  and  got  Wg  interest  for  it.  They  kept  the  war  going 
as  long  as  they  could.  What  cared  they  for  the  blood  of 
the  poor  soldier,  as  long1  as  they  could  keep  the  profits  and 


ANCESTBif    VEKSUS   PATRIOTISM.  39 

interest  coming  in?  It  wasn't  the  Quincys  and  the  Adamses 
and  the  other  fellers  with  big  names  that  stayed  at  home 
and  hollered  who  saved  the  country,  but  the  rank  and  file 
that  did  the  fightin',  and  I  was  one  of  them." 

As  he  said  this  the  irascible  Professor  shook  his  fist  in 
Quincy's  face,  to  which  a  red  flush  mounted,  dyeing  cheek 
and  brow. 

"That's  the  Lord's  truth,"  said  Abner  Stiles.  Then  he 
called  out  in  a  loud  voice,  "Second  round  for  the  Professor. 
Now  for  the  finish." 

But  the  finish  did  not  come  then.  The  settlement  be 
tween  these  two  lingual  disputants  did  not  come  for  many 
days.  The  reason  for  a  sudden  cessation  of  the  wordy  con 
flict  was  a  shrill,  feminine  voice,  which  cried  out  from  the 
store  platform: 

"Hiram  Maxwell,  where  are  you?  Mother's  most  out  of 
patience  waiting  for  you." 

"Good  Lord!"  cried  Hiram,  breaking  through  the  crowd 
and  rushing  to  the  counter  to  make  the  long-deferred  pur 
chase.  "Fm  coming  in  a  minute." 

"I  think  i  had  better  see  you  home,"  remarked  Huldy 
Mason,  entering  the  store. 

As  she  advanced  the  crowd  separated  and  moved  back 
ward,  leaving  her  a  dear  path. 

"Why,  how  do  you  do,  Mr.  Sawyer?"  said  she  in  a  pleas 
ant  voice  and  with  a  sweet  smile,  as  she  reached  Quincy. 
"Won't  you  help  me  take  Hiram  home?" 

"I  should  ibe  happy  to  be  of  service  to  you/'  replied 
Quincy. 

The  professor  turned  his  back  toward  Miss  Mason  and 
began  talking  in  an  animated  manner  to  Abner  Stiles,  Bob 
Wood,  and  a  few  other  ardent  sympathizers  who  gathered 
about  him. 

The  rest  of  the  crowd  were  evidently  more  interested  in 
watching  the  pretty  Miss  Mason  and  the  genteel  Mr.  Saw- 


40  QUINCY  ADAMS   SAWYER. 

yer.  When  Hiram  left  the  store  with  his  purchases  under 
one  arm  and  Quincy's  box  of  cigars  under  the  other,  he  was 
closely  followed  by  Quincy  and  Huldy,  who  were  talking 
and  laughing  together.  The  crowd  of  loungers  streamed 
out  on  the  platform  again  to  watch  their  departure.  As 
Quincy  and  Huldy  turned  from  the  square  into  the  road 
that  led  to  the  Deacon's  house  they  met  Ezekiel  Petten- 
gill.  Huldy  nodded  gayly  and  Quincy  raised  his  hat,  but 
Ezekiel  was  not  acquainted  with  city  customs  and  did  not 
return  the  salutation.  A  few  moments  later  the  Professor 
and  Abner  Stiles  were  relating  to  him  the  exciting  occur 
rences  of  the  last  half  hour. 


V. 


MR.    SAWYER   MEETS   UNCLE   IKE. 

QUINCY  ADAMS  SAWYER  had  not  come  down  to 
Mason's  Corner  with  any  idea  of  becoming  a  hermit. 
His  father  was  a  great  lawyer  and  a  very  wealthy  man. 
He  had  made  Quincy  a  large  allowance  during  his  college 
days,  and  had  doubled  it  when  his  only  son  entered  his  law 
office  to  complete  his  studies. 

Quincy  had  worked  hard  in  two  ways;  first,  to  read  law, 
so  as  to  realize  the  great  anticipations  that  his  father  had 
concerning  him;  second,  he  worked  still  harder  between 
eight  in  the  evening  and  one,  two,  and  even  four  in  the 
morning,  to  get  rid  of  the  too  large  allowance  that  his  father 
made  him. 

Like  all  great  men,  his  father  was  unsuspicious  and  easily 
hoodwinked  aoout  family  matters;  so  when  Quincy  grew 
listless  and  on  certain  occasions  fell  asleep  at  his  desk  his 
renowned  and  indulgent  father  decided  it  was  due  to  over 
work  and  sent  him  down  to  Eastborough  for  a  month's  rest 
and  change  of  scene. 

His  father  had  known  Isaac  Pettengill,  and  in  fact  had 
conducted  many  successful  suits  for  him;  besides  this  he 
had  drawn  up  the  papers  when  Uncle  Ike  divided  his  for 
tune.  Quincy's  father  had  written  to  Uncle  Ike,  asking 
him  to  find  his  son  a  boarding  place,  and  Uncle  Ike  had 
selected  Deacon  Mason's  as  the  best  place  for  him. 

Quincy's  father  had  told  him  to  be  sure  and  get  ac 
quainted  with  Mr.  Isaac  Pettengill,  saying  he  was  a  man  of 


42  QUIXCY  ADAMS    SAWYER. 

fine  education,  and  added,  "I  sometimes  feel,  Quincy,  as 
though  I  would  like  to  go  into  the  country  and  take  care  of 
a  chicken  farm  myself  for  a  while." 

His  mother  came  of  the  best  New  England  stock,  and 
although  she  had  been  named  Sarah  and  her  husband's 
name  was  Nathaniel,  we  have  seen  that  the  son  had  been 
endowed  with  the  rather  high-sounding  name  of  Quincy 
Adams,  which  his  schoolmates  had  shortened  to  Quince, 
and  his  college  friends  had  still  further  abbreviated  to 
Ouinn.  Quincy  had  two  sisters  and  they  had  been  equally 
honored  with  high-sounding  appellations,  the  elder  being 
called  Florence  Estelle  and  the  younger  Maude  Gertrude, 
but  to  pa,  ma,  brother,  and  friends  they  were  known  as 
Flossie  and  Gertie. 

The  next  day  after  the  affair  at  Hill's  grocery,  Quincy 
put  several  of  the  best  cigars  in  town  in  his  pocket  and 
started  towards  Eastborough  Centre  for  a  walk,  intending 
to  call  upon  Uncle  Ike  Pettengill. 

The  young  man  knew  that  late  hours  and  their  usual  ac 
companiments  were  what  had  undermined  his  health,  so 
he  determined  to  make  his  vacation  of  good  service  to  him 
and  recover  his  accustomed  health  and  strength,  and  when 
he  returned  home  cut  his  old  acquaintances  and  settle  down 
earnestly  and  honestly  to  the  battle  of  life. 

He  had  been  a  favorite  in  city  'society;  he  was  well  edu 
cated,  well  read,  had  travelled  considerably  and  wras  uni 
formly  polite  and  affable  to  all  classes,  from  young  chil 
dren  to  old  men  and  women;  he  was  very  careful  about  his 
dress,  and  always  had  that  well-groomed  appearance,  which 
in  the  city  elicits  commendation,  but  which  leads  the  aver 
age  countryman  to  say  "dude'5  to  himself  and  near  friends 
when  talking  about  him. 

Quincy  was  no  dude;  he  had  been  prominent  in  all  college 
athletic  games ;  he  had  been  a  member  of  the  Varsity  eight 
in  one  of  its  -contests  with  Yale,  and  had  won  a  game  for 


MR.   SAWYER  MEETS    UNCLE  IKE.  48 

Harvard  wkh  Yale  at  base  ball  by  making  a  home  run  in  the 
tenth  inning  on  a  tied  score.  He  was  a  good  musician  and 
fine  singer.  In  addition  he  was  a  graceful  dancer,  and  had 
taken  lessons  in  boxing,  until  his  feather-weight  teacher 
suggested  that  he  had  better  find  a  heavy-weight  instructor 
to  practise  on. 

i  Quincy  was  in  his  twenty-third  year.  He  had  been  in  love 
a  dozen  times,  but,  as  he  expressed  it,  had  been  saved  from 
matrimony  by  getting  acquainted  with  a  prettier  girl  just  as 
he  was  on  the  point  of  popping  the  question. 

But  we  left  him  walking  along  on  his  way  to  Eastborough 
Centre.  Deacon  Mason  had  told  him  Uncle  Ike's  house 
was  away  from  the  road,  some  hundred  feet  back,  and  that 
'he  could  not  mistake  it,  as  he  could  see  the  chicken  coop 
from  the  road.  He  finally  reached  it  after  traversing  about 
a  mile  and  a  half,  it  being  another  mile  and  a  half  to  East- 
borough  Centre. 

He  found  the  path  that  led  to  the  house.  As  he  neared 
the  steps  a  huge  dog  arose  from  a  reclining  posture  and 
faced  him,  not  in  an  ugly  mood,  but  with  an  expression  that 
seemed  to  say,  "An  introduction  will  'be  necessary  before 
you  come  any  farther."  The  dog  seemed  to  understand 
that  it  was  his  duty  to  bring  about  the  necessary  introduc 
tion,  so  he  gave  a  series  of  loud  barks.  The  door  was 
quickly  opened  and  Uncle  Ike  stood  in  the  doorway. 

"Do  I  address  Mr.  Isaac  Pettengill?"  asked  Quincy. 

Uncle  Ike  replied,  "That's  what  they  write  on  my  letters.'' 

Quincy  continued,  "My  name  is  Quincy  Adams  Sawyer. 
?  am  the  only  son  of  the  Hon.  Nathaniel  Sawyer  of  Boston, 
and  I  bear  a  letter  of  introduction  from  him  to  you." 

Quincy  took  the  letter  from  his  pocket  and  held  it  in  his 
hand.  The  dog  made  a  quick  movement  forward  and  be 
fore  Quincy  could  divine  his  object,  he  took  the  letter  in 
his  mouth  and  took  it  to  Uncle  Ike,  and,  returning,  faced 
Quincy  again. 


44  QUINCT  ADAMS    SAWYER. 

Uncle  Ike  read  the  letter  slowly  and  carefully;  then  he 
turned  to  Quincy  and  said,  "If  you  will  talk  about  birds, 
fish,  dogs,  and  chickens,  you  are  welcome,  and  I  shall  be 
glad  to  see  you  now  or  any  time.  If  you  talk  about  law 
suits  or  religion  I  shall  be  sorry  that  you  came.  I  am  sick 
of  lawyers  and  ministers.  If  you  insist  upon  talking  on  such 
subjects  I'll  tell  Swiss,  and  the  next  time  you  come  he 
won't  even  bark  to  let  me  know  you're  here.'' 

Quincy  took  in  the  situation,  and  smiling  said,  "I  am 
tired  of  lawyers  and  lawsuits  myself;  that  is  the  reason  I 
came  down  here  for  a  change.  The  subjects  you  mention 
will  satisfy  me,  if  you  will  allow  me  to  put  in  a  few  words 
about  rowing,  running,  boxing,  and  football." 

Uncle  Ike  replied,  "The  physically  perfect  man  1  admire, 
the  intellectually  perfect  man  is  usually  a  big  bore ;  I  prefer 
the  company  of  my  chickens."  Turning  to  Swiss  he  said 
with  a  marked  change  in  his  voice,  "This  is  a  friend  of  mine, 
Swiss."  Turning  to  Quincy  he  said,  "He  will  admit  you 
until  I  give  him  directions  to  the  contrary.5' 

The  dog  walked  quietly  to  one  side  and  Quincy  advanced 
with  outstretched  hand  toward  Uncle  Ike. 

Uncle  Ike  did  not  extend  his.  He  said,  "I  never  shake 
hands,  young  man.  It  is  a  hollow  social  custom.  With 
Damon  and  Pythias  it  meant  something.  One  was  ready 
to  die  for  the  other,  and  that  hand-clasp  meant  friendship 
until  death.  How  many  hand  shakings  mean  that  now 
adays?  Besides,"  with  a  queer  smile,  "I  have  just  been 
cutting  up  a  broiler  that  I  intend  to  cook  for  my  dinner.? 
Come  in,  you  are  welcome  on  the  conditions  I  have  men«J 
tioned." 

Quincy  obeyed  and  stepped  into  the  kitchen  of  Sleepy 
Hollow.  He  owned  to  himself  in  after  years  that  that  was 
the  most  important  step  he  had  taken  in  life — the  turning- 
point  in  his  career. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

SOME  NEW  IDEAS. 

DID  you  ever  kill  a  chicken?"  asked  Uncle  Ike,  as 
Quincy  entered  the  room  and  took  a  seat  in  the  wil 
low  rocker  Uncle  Ike  pointed  out  to  him. 

"No,"  replied  Qukicy,  "but  out  in  Chicago  I  saw  live 
hogs  killed,  bristles  taken  off,  cut  up,  assorted  according  to 
kind  and  quality,  and  hung  up  -to  cool  off,  in  three  minutes." 

Uncle  Ike  responded  vehemently,  "Yes,  I  know,  and  it  is 
a  shame  to  the  American  people  that  they  allow  such 
things.'* 

"That  may  be  true,"  said  Quincy,  "but  even  at  that  speed 
they  cannot  kill  and  pack  as  fast  as  it  is  wanted.'' 

"Yes,"  said  Uncle  Ike,  "in  the  old  days  man  feared  God, 
and  he  treated  man  and  beast  better  for  that  reason.  In 
these  days  man  serves  Mammon  and  he  will  do  anything  to 
win  his  favor." 

"Do  you  think  it  is  true  that  men  were  better  in  the  old 
days?''  asked  Quincy. 

"No,"  answered  Uncle  Ike,  "I  didn't  say  so.  I  said  that 
in  the  old  days  man  was  afraid  to  do  these  things;  now  if  he 
has  money  he  is  afraid  of  neither  God,  man,  nor  the  devil. 
To  speak  frankly,  that  is  why  I  am  so  independent  myself. 
I  am  sure  of  enough  to  support  me  as  long  as  I  live;  I  owe 
no  man  anything,  and  I  allow  no  man  to  owe-me  anything." 

Quincy,  changing  -the  subject,  inquired,  "What  is  your 
method  of  killing  chickens?" 


46  QUINCY  ADAMS   SAWYER. 

Uncle  Ike  said,  "Let  me  tell  you  why  I  devised  a  nc>r 
plan.  When  I  was  about  eight  years  old  I  went  with  my 
mother  to  visit  an  uncle  in  a  neighboring  town.  I  was 
born  in  Eastborough  myself,  in  the  old  Pettengill  house. 
But  this  happened  some  twenty  miles  from  here.  My  uncle 
was  chopping  wood,  and  boy  like,  I  went  out  to  watch  him. 
An  old  rooster  kept  running  around  the  block,  flapping  its 
wings,  making  considerable  noise.  Uncle  shooed  him  off 
three  or  four  times.  Finally  uncle  made  a  grab  at  him, 
caught  him  by  the  legs,  whacked  him  down  on  the  block 
and  with  his  axe  cut  off  his  head  close  to  his  body,  and  then 
threw  it  out  on  the  grass  right  in  front  of  me.  Was  that 
rooster  dead?  I  thought  not.  It  got  up  on  its  legs,  ran 
right  towards  where  I  was  sitting,  and  before  I  could  get 
away  I  was  covered  with  the  blood  that  came  from  its  neck. 
I  don't  know  how  far  the  rooster  ran,  but  I  know  I  never 
stopped  until  I  was  safe  in  my  mother's  arms.  The  balance 
of  the  time  I  stayed  there  you  could'nt  get  me  within  forty 
yards  of  my  uncle,  for  every  time  I  met  him  I  could  see 
myself  running  around  without  my  head." 

"That  made  a  lasting  impression  on  you,"  remarked 
Quincy. 

"Yes,"  said  Uncle  Ike,  "it  has  lasted  me  sixty-eight  years, 
one  month,  and  thirteen  days,"  pointing  to  a  calendar  that 
hung  on  the  wall. 

As  Quincy  looked  in  the  direction  indicated  he  saw 
something  hanging  beside  it  that  attracted  his  attention. 

It  was  a  sheet  of  white  paper  with  a  heavy  black  border. 
Within  the  border  were  written  these  words,  "Sacred  to 
the  memory  of  Isaac  Pettengill,  who  was  killed  at  the  battle 
of  Gettysburg,  July  4th,  1863,  aged  twenty-nine  years.  He 
died  for  his  namesake  and  his  native  land." 

Quincy  said  interrogatively,  "Did  you  lose  a  son  in  the 
war?" 


SOME   NEW   IDEAS.  41 

"No/'  was  the  reply.  "I  never  had  a  son.  That  was 
my  substitute.'' 

"Strange  that  your  substitute  should  have  the  same  name 
as  yourself." 

"Yes,  it  would  have  been  if  he  had,  but  he  didn't.  His 
right  name  was  Lemuel  Butters.  But  I  didn't  propose  to 
put  my  money  into  such  a  name  as  that." 

"Were  you  drafted?"  asked  Quincy. 

"No,"  said  Uncle  Ike.  "I  might  as  well  tell  you  the 
whole  story,  for  you  seem  bound  to  have  it.  I  came  down 
here  in  1850,  when  I  was  about  sixty.  Of  course  I  knew 
what  was  going  on,  but  I  didn't  take  much  interest  in  the 
war,  till  a  lot  of  soldiers  went  by  one  day.  They  stopped 
here;  we  had  a  talk,  and  they  told  me  a  number  of  things 
that  I  hadn't  seen  in  the  papers.  I  haven't  read  the  daily 
papers  for  thirteen  years,  but  I  take  some  weeklies  and  the 
magazines  and  buy  some  books.  Well,  the  next  day  I 
went  over  to  Eastborough  Centre  and  asked  the  select 
men  how  much  it  would  cost  to  send  a  man  to  the  war. 
They  said  substitutes  were  bringing  $150  just  then,  but 
that  I  was  over  age  and  couldn't  be  drafted,  and  there  was 
no  need  of  my  sending  anybody.  I  remarked  that  in  my 
opinion  a  man's  patriotism  ought  not  to  die  out  as  long  as 
he  lived.  It  seemed  to  me  that  if  a  man  had  $150  it  was  his 
duty  to  pay  for  a  substitute,  if  he  was  a  hundred.  The 
selectmen  said  that  they  had  a  young  fellow  named  Lem 
Butters  who  was  willing  to  go  if  he  got  a  hundred  and  fifty. 
So  I  planked  down  the  money,  but  with  the  understanding1 
that  he  should  take  my  name.  Well,  to  make  a  long  story 
short,  I  got  killed  at  Gettysburg  and  I  wrote  that  out  as  a 
reminder." 

"Don't  you  ever  get  lonesome  alone  here  by  yourself?" 
Quincy  asked. 

"Yes."  said  Uncle  Ike.  "I  am  lonesome  every  minute  of 
the  time.  That's  what  I  came  down  here  for.  I  got  tired 


&  QOlXCt    ADAMS    SAWTEJi 

being  lonesome  with  other  people  around  me,  so  I  thought 
I  would  come  down  here  and  be  lonesome  all  by  myself, 
and  I  have  never  been  sorry  I  came." 

Quincy  opened  his  eyes  and  looked  inquiringly  at  Uncle 
Ike. 

"I  don't  quite  understand  what  you  mean  by  being  lone 
some  with  other  people  around  you,"  said  he. 

"No,  of  course  you  don't,"  replied  Uncle  Ike.  "You  are 
too  young.  I  was  sixty.  I  was  thirty-five  when  I  got  mar 
ried  and  my  wife  was  only  twenty-two,  so  when  I  was 
sixty  she  was  only  forty-seven.  One  girl  was  twenty-three 
and  the  other  twenty.  I  went  to  work  at  seven  o'clock  in 
the  morning  and  got  home  at  seven  at  night.  My  wife 
and  daughters  went  to  theatres,  dinners,  and  parties,  and  of 
course  I  stayed  at  home  and  kept  house  with  the  servant 
girl.  In  my  business  I  had  taken  in  two  young  fellows  as 
partners,  both  good,  honest  men,  but  soon  they  got  to  fig 
uring  that  on  business  points  they  were  two  and  I  was  one, 
and  pretty  soon  all  I  had  to  do  was  to  put  wood  on  the  fire 
and  feed  the  office  cat.  So  you  can  see  I  was  pretty  lone 
some  about  eighteen  hours  out  of  the  twenty-four." 

Quincy  said  reflectively,  "And  your  family — '' 

Uncle  Ike  broke  in,  "Are  alive  and  well,  I  suppose. 
They  don't  write  me  and  I  don't  write  them.  I  told  my 
partners  they  must  buy  me  out,  and  I  gave  them  sixty  days 
to  do  it  in.  I  gave  my  wife  and  daughters  two-thirds  of 
my  fortune  and  put  the  other  third  into  an  annuity.  I  am 
calculating  now  that  if  my  health  holds  good  I  shall  beat 
the  insurance  company  in  the  end." 

Quincy,  finding  that  his  inquiries  provoked  such  inter 
esting  replies,  risked  another,  "Are  your  daughters  mar 
ried?" 

Uncle  Ike  laughed  quietly.  "I  don't  read  the  daily 
papers  as  I  said,  so  I  don't  know,  but  they  wouldn't  send 
me  cards  anyway.  They  know  my  ideas  of  marriage/' 


SOME  NEW    IDEAb.  « 

Quincy,  smiling-,  asked,  "Have  you  some  new  ideas  on 
that  old  custom?" 

"Yes,  I  have,"  replied  Uncle  Ike.  "If  two  men  go  into 
business  and  each  puts  in  money  and  they  make  money  or 
don't  make  it,  the  law  doesn't  fix  it  so  that  they  must  keep 
together  for  their  natural  lives,  but  allows  the  firm  to  be 
dissolved  by  mutual  consent." 

"Why,  sir,  that  would  make  marriage  a  limited  partner- 
ship,"  said  Quincy  with  a  smile. 

"What  better  is  it  now?"  asked  Uncle  Ike.  "The  law 
doesn't  compel  couples  to  live  together  if  they  don't  want 
to,  and  if  they  don't  want  to  live  together,  why  not  let 
them,  under  proper  restrictions,  get  up  some  new  firms? 
Of  course,  -there  wouldn't  be  any  objection  to  parties  living 
together  for  their  natural  lives,  if  they  wanted  to,  and  the 
fact  that  they  did  would  be  pretty  good  proof  that  they 
wanted  to." 

Quincy  started  to  speak,  "But  what — " 

"I  know  what  you  were  going  to  say,"  said  Uncle  Ike. 
"You  are  going  to  ask  that  tiresome  old  question,  what 
will  become  of  the  children?  Well,  I  should  consider  them 
part  of  the  property  on  hand  and  divide  them  and  the 
money  according  to  law/' 

"But  few  mothers  would  consent  to  be  parted  from  their 
children." 

"Oh,  that's  nonsense,"  replied  Uncle  Ike.  "I  have  a 
(Massachusetts  State  Report  here  that  says  about  five  hun 
dred  children  every  year  are  abandoned  by  their  mothers 
for  some  cause  or  other.  They  leave  them  on  doorsteps  and 
in  railroad  stations ;  they  put  them  out  to  board  and  don't 
pay  their  board ;  and  the  report  says  that  every  one  of  these 
little  waifs  is  adopted  by  good  people,  and  they  get  a  better 
education  and  a  better  bringing  up  than  their  own  parents 
could  or  would  give  them.  Have  you  ever  read,  Mr.  Saw- 


W  QUINCY  ADAMS    SAWYER. 

yer,  of  the  Austrian  baron  who  was  crossed  in  love  and 
decided  he  would  never  marry?" 

Quincy  shook  his  head. 

"Well,  he  was  wealthy  and  had  a  -big  castle,  with  no  one 
to  live  in  it,  and  during  his  life  he  adopted,  educated, 
clothed,  and  sent  out  into  the  world,  fitted  to  make  their 
own  living",  more  than  a  thousand  children.  To  my  mind,^ 
Mr.  Sawyer,  he  was  a  bigger  man  than  any  emperor  or  king 
who  has  ever  lived." 

Quincy  asked,  "But  how  are  you  going  to  start  such  a 
reform,  Mr.  Pettengill?  The  first  couple  that  got  reunited 
on  the  partnership  plan  would  be  the  laughing  stock  of  the 
community." 

"Just  so,"  said  Uncle  Ike,  "but  I  can  get  over  that  diffi 
culty.  The  State  of  Massachusetts  has  led  in  a  great  many 
social  reforms.  Let  it  take  the  first  step  forward  in  this 
one ;  let  it  declare  by  law  that  all  marriages  on  and  after  a 
certain  day  shall  terminate  five  years  from  the  date  of 
marriage  unless  the  couples  wish  to  renew  the  bonds.  Then 
let  everybody  laugh  at  everybody  else  if  they  want  to." 

"Well,  how  about  those  couples  that  were  married  before 
that  day?" 

"That's  easy,"  was  Uncle  Ike's  reply.  "Give  them  all  a 
chance  five  years  after  the  law  to  dissolve  by  mutual  con 
sent,  if  they  want  to.  Don't  forget,  Mr.  Sawyer,  that  with 
such  a  law  there  would  be  no  need  of  divorce  courts,  and 
if  any  man  insulted  a  woman,  imprisonment  for  life  and 
even  the  gallows  wouldn't  be  any  too  good  for  him.  Will 
you  stay  to  lunch,  Mr.  Sawyer?  My  chicken  is  about  done." 

Quincy  arose  and  politely  declined  the  invitation,  saying 
he  had  been  so  much  interested  he  had  remained  much 
longer  than  he  had  intended,  but  he  would  be  pleased  to 
call  again  some  day  if  Mr.  Pettengill  were  willing. 

"Oh,  yes,  come  any  time,"  said  Uncle  Ike,  "you're  a  good 
listener,  and  I  always  like  a  man  that  allows  me  to  do  most 


SOME    NEW    IDEAS.  & 

oJ  the  talking.  By  the  way,  we  didn't  get  a  chance  to  say 
much  this  time  about  shooting,  fishing,  or  football.'* 

Quincy  went  down  the  steps,  and  Uncle  Ike  stood  at  the 
door,  as  he  did  'before  he  entered.  Swiss  looked  at  Quincy 
with  an  expression  that  seemed  to  say,  "You  have  made  a 
pretty  long  call.''  Quincy  patted  him  on  the  head,  called 
him  "good  dog/'  and  walked  briskly  down  the  path  towards 
the  road.  When  he  was  about  fifty  feet  from  the  house, 
Uncle  Ike  called  out  sharply,  "Mr.  Sawyer!"  Quincy 
turned  on  his  heel  quickly  and  looked  towards  the  speaker. 
Uncle  Ike's  voice,  still  sharp,  spoke  these  farewell  words: 

"I  forgot  to  tell  you,  Mr.  Sawyer,  that  I  always  chloro 
form  my  chickens  before  I  cut  their  heads  off." 

He  stepped  back  into  the  house.  Swiss,  with  a  bound, 
was  in  the  room  beside  him,  and  when  Quincy  again  turned 
his  steps  towards  the  road  the  closed  door  had  shut  then? 
both  from  view. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

"THAT  CITY   FELLER.** 

r 

AS  usual,  the  next  morning  Hiram  was  down  to  the 
Pettengill  house  between  nine  and  ten  o'clock.  He 
opened  the  kitchen  door  unobserved  by  Mandy  and  looked 
in  at  her.  She  was  standing  at  the  sink  washing  dishes 
and  singing  to  herself.  Suddenly  Hiram  gave  a  jump  into 
the  room  and  cried  out  in  a  loud  voice,  "How  are  you, 
Mandy?" 

She  dropped  a  tin  pan  that  she  was  wiping,  which  fell 
with  a  clatter,  breaking  a  plate  that  happened  to  be  in  the 
sink. 

"I'm  much  worse,  thank  you,"  she  retorted,  "and  none 
the  better  for  seeing  you.  What  do  you  mean  by  coming 
into  the  house  and  yelling  like  a  wild  Injin?  I  shall  expect 
you  to  pay  for  that  plate  anyway." 

"He  who  breaks  pays,"  said  Hiram  with  a  laugh.  "But 
why  don't  you  shake  hands  with  a  fellow?" 

"I  will  if  I  like  and  I  won't  if  I  like,"  replied  Mandy, 
extending  her  hand,  which  was  covered  with  soapsuds. 
,    "Wipe  your  hand,"  said  Hiram,  "and  I'll  give  you  this 
ten  cents  to  pay  for  the  plate." 

As  he  said  this  he  extended  the  money  towards  her. 
iMandy  did  not  attempt  to  take  it,  but  giving  her  wet  hand 
a  flip  threw  the  soapsuds  full  in  Hiram's  face.  He  rushed 
forward  and  caught  her  about  the  waist;  as  he  did  so  he 
dropped  the  money,  which  rolled  under  the  kitchen  table. 

Mandy  turned  around  quickly  and  facing  Hiram,  caught 


THAT  CITY  FELLER.  68 

him  by  both  ears,  which  she  pulled  vigorously.  He  released 
his  hold  upon  her  and  jumped  back  to  escape  further  pun 
ishment. 

"Now,  'Mr.  Hiram  Maxwell/'  said  she,  facing  him,  "what 
do  you  mean  by  such  actions?  I've  a  good  mind  to  put 
you  outdoors  and  never  set  eyes  on  you  again.  What 
would  Mr.  Pettengill  have  thought  if  he'd  a  come  in  a  min 
ute  ago?'7 

"I  guess  he'd  a  thought  that  I  was  gittin'  on  better 'n  I 
really  am,"  replied  Hiram,  with  a  crestfallen  look.  "Now, 
Mandy,  don't  get  mad,  I  didn't  mean  nothin',  I  was  only 
foolin'  and  you  began  it  fust,  by  throwin'  that  dirty  water 
in  my  face,  and  no  feller  that  had  any  spunk  could  stand 
that.''  As  he  said  this,  a  broad  smile  covered  his  face. 
"Say,  Mandy,"  he  continued,  "here  comes  Obadiah  Strout, 
we'd  better  make  up  before  he  gits  in  or  it'll  be  all  over 
town  that  you  and  me  have  been  fightin'.  Got  any  chores 
this  mornin',  Mandy,  that  I  can  do  for  you?" 

At  this  moment  the  kitchen  door  was  again  opened  and 
Professor  Strout  entered. 

"Where's  Pettengill?"  he  asked  of  Mandy,  not  noticing 
Hiram. 

"I  guess  he's  out  in  the  wood-shed,  if  he  hasn't  gone 
somewheres  else,"  replied  Mandy,  resuming  her  work  at 
the  sink. 

Strout  turned  towards  Hiram  and  said,  as  if  he  had  been 
unaware  previously  of  his  presence,  "Oh!  you  there, 
Hiram?  Just  go  find  Pettengill  for  me  like  a  good  feller 
and  tell  him  Professor  Strout  wishes  to  see  him  up  to  the 
house." 

"At  the  same  time,  Hiram/'  said  Mandy,  "go  find  me 
that  dozen  eggs  that  I  told  you  I  wanted  for  that  puddin'." 

Hiram  winked  at  Mandy,  unseen  by  the  Professor,  and 
started  for  the  chicken  coop. 

"Guess  I'll  have  a  chair,"  remarked  the  Professor. 


64  QUINCY  ADAMS  SAWYER. 

"All  right,  if  you  don't  take  it  with  you  whea  you  go," 
replied  Mandy,  still  busily  washing  dishes. 

"Fine  weather/'  said  Strout. 

"Sorter  between,"  laconically  replied  Mandy. 

"Did  you  enjoy  the  concert?''  asked  Strout. 
i     "Some  parts  of  it,"  said  Mandy.    "I  thought  Mr.  Sawyer 
and  Miss  Putnam  were  just  splendid.    His  whistling  was 
just  grand.'' 

"He'll  whistle  another  kind  of  a  tune  in  a  few  days," 
remarked  Strout. 

"What?  Are  you  going  to  give  another  concert?"  asked 
Mandy,  looking  at  him  for  the  first  time. 

"If  I  do,"  replied  the  Professor,  "you  bet  he  won't  be 
one  of  the  performers.5' 

"Oh,  I  see/'  said  Mandy,  "you're  mad  with  him  'cause 
he  hogged  the  whole  show.  Mr.  Maxwell  was  just  telling 
me  as  how  Mr.  Sawyer  was  going  to  hire  the  Town  Hall  on 
Washington's  birthday  and  'bring  down  a  big  brass  band 
from  Bostpn  and  give  a  concert  that  would  put  you  in  the 
shade,  and  somebody  was  telling  me,  I  forget  who,  that 
iMr.  Sawyer  don't  like  to  sit  'round  doing  nothin',  and  he's 
goin'  to  give  music  lessons." 

These  last  two  untruthful  shots  hit  the  mark,  as  she 
knew  they  would,  and  Strout,  abandoning  the  subject, 
blurted  out,  "Where  in  thunder's  that  Hiram?  I'll  be 
blowed  if  I  don't  believe  he  went  to  look  for  the  eggs  first." 

"I  reckon  he  did,"  said  Mandy,  "if  he  means  to  keep  on 
good  terms  with  me.  He  ain't  likely  to  tend  to  stray  jobs 
till  he's  done  up  his  regular  chores." 

"I  s'pose  Deacon  Mason  sends  him  down  here  to  wait  on 
you?"  remarked  Strout  with  a  sneer. 

"Did  Deacon  Mason  tell  you  that  you  could  have  him  to 
run  your  errands?"  inquired  Mandy,  with  a  pout. 

"Guess  the  best  thing  I  can  do,"  said  Strout  rising,  "is 
to  go  hunt  Pettengill  up  myself." 


THAT  CITY  FELLER.  55 

nl  guess  you've  struck  it  right  this  time,"  assented 
Mandy,  as  Strout  left  the  room  and  started  for  the  wood 
shed. 

As  he  closed  the  door,  Mandy  resumed  her  singing  as 
though  such  conversations  were  of  everyday  occurrence. 

She  finished  her  work  at  the  sink  and  was  fixing  the 
kitchen  fire  when  Hiram  returned. 

"All  I  could  find,"  said  he,  holding  an  egg  in  each  hand. 
"The  hens  must  have  struck  or  think  it's  a  holiday.  S'pose 
there's  any  out  in  the  barn?  Come,  let's  go  look,  Mandy. 
Where's  old  Strout?" 

"I  guess  he's  gone  to  look  for  Mr.  Pettengill,"  replied 
Mandy,  with  a  laugh. 

"I  kinder  thought  the  would  if  I  stayed  long  enough," 
said  Hiram,  with  a  grin ;  "but  come  along,  Mandy,  no  hen 
fruit,  no  puddinV 

"Mr.  Maxwell,"  said  Mandy,  soberly,  "I  wish  you'd  be 
more  particular  about  your  language.  You  know  I  abom 
inate  slang.  You  know  how  careful  I  try  to  be." 

"You're  a  dandy,"  said  Hiram,  taking  her  hand. 

They  ran  as  far  as  the  wood-shed,  when  seeing  the  door 
open,  they  hid  behind  it  until  Strout  came  out  and  walked 
down  towards  the  lane  to  meet  Ezekiel,  whom  he  had  seen 
coming  up  from  the  road.  Then  Hiram  and  Mandy  sped 
on  their  way  to  the  (barn,  which  they  quickly  reached  and 
were  soon  upon  the  haymow,  apparently  searching  intently 
for  eggs. 

When  Strout  reached  Ezekiel  he  shook  hands  with  him 
and  said,  "Come  up  to  the  barn,  Pettengill,  I've  got  a  little 
somethin'  I  want  to  tell  you  and  it's  kinder  private.  It's 
about  that  city  feller  that's  swellin'  round  here  puttin'  on 
airs  and  tryin'  to  make  us  think  that  his  father  is  a  bigger 
man  than  George  Washington.  He  about  the  same  as 
told  me  down  to  the  grocery  store  that  the  blood  of  all  the 
Quincys  flowed  in  one  arm  and  the  blood  of  all  the  Adams*" 


56  QUUSCY   ADAMS  SAWYER. 

in  the  other,  but  I  kinder  guess  that  the  rest  of  his  carcass 
is  full  of  calf's  blood  and  there's  more  fuss  and  feathers 
than  fight  to  him." 

By  this  time  they  had  reached  the  barn  and  they  sat  down 
upon  a  pile  of  hay  at  the  foot  of  the  mow. 

"Now  my  plan's  this,"  said  Strout.  "You  know  Bob 
Wood;  well,  he's  the  biggest  feller  and  the  best  fighter  in 
town.  I'm  goin'  to  post  Bob  up  as  to  how  to  pick  a  quar 
rel  with  that  city  feller.  When  he  gets  the  lickin'  that  he 
deserves,  I  rayther  think  that  Deacon  Mason  will  lose  a 
boarder." 

"But  s'posin'  Mr.  Sawyer  licks  Bob  Wood?"  queried 
Ezekiel. 

"Oil!  I  dor'c  count  much  on  that,"  said  Strout;  "but  if 
it  should  turn  out  that  way  we're  goin'  to  turn  in  and  get 
up  a  surprise  party  for  Miss  Mason  and  jist  leave  him  out." 

"I  hope  you  ain't  goin'  to  do  any  fightin'  down  to  Deacon 
Mason's?"  remarked  Ezekiel. 

"Oh,  no !"  protested  Strout,  "it'll  be  kind  o'  quiet,  under- 
minin'  work,  as  it  were.  Remarks  and  sayin's  and  side 
whispers  and  odd  looks,  the  cold  shoulder  business,  you 
know,  that  soon  tells  a  feller  that  his  company  ain't 
appreciated." 

"Well,  I  don't  think  that's  quite  fair,"  said  Ezekiel.  "You 
don't  like  him,  Mr.  Strout,  but  I  don't  think  the  whole  town 
will  take  it  up." 

The  Professor  said  sternly,  "He  has  insulted  me  and  in 
doing  that  he  has  insulted  the  whole  town  of  East 
borough." 

A  smothered  laugh  was  heard. 

"By  George!    What  was  that?"  cried  Strout. 

Ezekiel  was  at  a  loss  what  to  say,  and  before  he  could 
reply,  Mandy's  laughing  had  caused  the  hay  to  move.  As 
it  began  to  slide  she  clutched  at  Hiram  in  a  vam  sffort  to 
save  herself,  and  the  next  instant  a  large  pile  of  hay,  bear- 


THAT  CITY    FELLER.  67 

ing  Hiram  and  Mandy,  came  down,  falling  upon  Ezekiel 
and  Strout  and  covering  them  from  sight. 

When  all  had  struggled  to  their  feet,  Ezekiel  turned  to 
Mandy  and  said  sharply,  "What  were  you  doin'  up  there, 
Mandy?" 

"Looking  for  eggs,"  said  she,  as  she  ran  out  of  the  barn 
and  started  for  the  house. 

Hiram  stood  with  his  mouth  distended  with  a  huge  smile. 
Strout  turned  towards  him  and  said  savagely,  "Well,  if 
you're  the  only  egg  she  got,  'twas  a  mighty  bad  one." 

Hiram  retorted,  "I  would  rather  be  called  a  bad  egg 
than  somethin5  I  heard  about  you.'' 

Strout,  in  a.  passion,  cried  out,  "Who  said  anything  about 
me"?" 

Hiram  made  for  the  barn  door  and  then  said,  "heard  a 
gentleman  say  as  how  there  was  only  one  jackass  in  East- 
borough  and  he  taught  the  singin'  school." 

Strout  caught  up  a  rake  to  throw  at  him,  but  Hiram  was 
out  of  sight  before  he  could  carry  out  his  purpose.  Turn 
ing  to  Ezekiel,  Strout  said,  "I  bet  a  dollar,  Pettengill,  it 
was  that  city  feller  that  said  that,  and  as  I  have  twice  re 
marked  and  this  makes  three  times,  this  town  ain't  big 
enough  to  hold  both  on  us." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

CITY    SKILL   VERSUS    COUNTRY    MUSCLE. 

HIRAM  MAXWELL  was  not  called  upon  to  perform 
very  arduous  duties  at  Deacon  Mason's.  The  Dea 
con  had  given  up  farming  several  years  before,  and  Hiram's 
duties  consisted  in  doing  the  chores  about  the  house.  He 
had  plenty  of  spare  time,  and  he  used  it  by  going  down  to 
the  Pettengill  place  and  talking  to  Mandy  Skinner. 

The  next  morning  after  the  adventure  in  the  barn,  Hiram 
went  down  as  usual  after  his  morning's  work  was  done  to 
see  Mandy. 

"How  do  you  find  things,  Mandy?"  said  Hiram,  opening 
the  kitchen  door  and  putting  his  head  in. 

"By  looking  for  them,"  said  Mandy,  without  looking  up 
from  her  work. 

"You  are  awful  smart,  ain't  you?"  retorted  Hiram. 

Mandy  replied,  "People's  opinion  that  I  think  a  good  deal 
more  of  than  yours  have  said  that  same  thing,  Mr.  Max 
well." 

Hiram  saw  that  he  was  worsted,  so  he  changed  the  con* 
versation. 

"Anybody  to  hum?" 

Mandy  answered  sharply,  "Everybodj  "•»  out  but  me,  of 
course  I  am  nobody." 

Hiram  came  in  and  closed  the  door. 

"You  needn't  be  so  pesky  smart  with  your  tongue, 
Mandy.  Of  course  I  can't  keep  up  with  you  and  you  know 
it.  What's  up?" 


CITY  SKILL  VEKSUS  COUNTRY    MUSCLE.  55 

Mandy  replied,  "The  thermometer.  It  isn't  nearly  as 
cold  as  it  was  yesterday." 

Hiram,  seeing  a  breakfast  apparently  laid  out  on  a  side 
table  inquired,  "Expectin'  somebody  to  breakfast?" 

"No,"  said  Mandy,  "I  got  that  ready  for  Mr.  Pettengill, 
but  he  didn't  have  time  to  eat  it  because  he  was  afraid  he 
would  lose  the  train." 

"Has  he  gone  to  the  city?"  asked  Hiram. 

"I  'spect  he  has,"  answered  Mandy. 

"Well,"  remarked  Hiram,  "s'posin'  I  eat  that  breakfast 
myself,  so  as  to  save  you  the  trouble  of  throwin'  it  away." 

"Well,"  said  Mandy,  "I  was  going  to  give  it  to  the  pigs; 
I  suppose  one  hog  might  as  well  have  it  as  another." 

Hiram  said,  "Why,  you  don't  call  me  a  big  eater,  do  you, 
Mandy?" 

Mandy  laughed  and  said,  "I  can't  tell,  I  never  saw  you 
when  you  wasn't  hungry.  How  do  you  know  when  you 
have  got  enough?" 

Hiram  said,  "I  haven't  got  but  one  way  of  tellin',  I  allus 
eats  till  it  hurts  me,  then  I  stop  while  the  pain  lasts." 

Then  he  asked  Mandy,  "What  did  'Zekiel  go  to  the  city 
for?" 

Mandy  answered,  "Mr.  Pettengill  does  not  confide  his 
private  business  to  me." 

Hiram  'broke  in,  "I  bet  a  dollar  you  know  why  he  went, 
just  the  same." 

Mandy  said,  "I  bet  a  dollar  I  do." 

Then  she  broke  into  a  loud  laugh.  Hiram  evidently 
thought  it  was  very  funny  and  laughed  until  the  tears  stood 
in  his  eyes. 

"What  are  you  laughing  for?"  asked  Mandy. 

Hiram's  countenance  fell. 

"Come  down  to  the  fine  point,  Mandy,  durned  if  I 
know." 

"That's  a  great  trick  of  yours,  Hiram,"  said   Mandy. 


60  QUINOY  ADAMS  SAWYER. 

"You  ought  not  to  laugh  at  anything  unless  you  under 
stand  it." 

"I  guess  I  wouldn't  laugh  much  then,"  said  Hiram.  "I 
allus  laugh  when  I  don't  understand  anythin',  so  folks 
won't  think  that  I  don't  know  where  the  p'int  comes  in. 
But  say,  Mandy,  what  did  Pettengill  go  to  the  city  for?" 

During  this  conversation  Hiram  had  been  eating  the 
breakfast  that  had  been  prepared  for  Ezekiel.  Mandy  sat 
down  near  him  and  said,  "I'll  tell  you,  but  it  ain't  nothing 
to  laugh  at.  Mr.  Pettengill  had  a  telegraph  message  come 
last  night." 

"You  don't  say  so!"  said  Hiram.  "It  must  be  pretty 
important  for  persons  to  spend  money  that  way.  Nobody 
dead,  I  s'pose?'' 

"Well,"  said  Mandy,  "Mr.  Pettengill  left  the  telegram  in 
his  room  and  I  had  to  read  it  to  see  whether  I  had  to  throw 
it  away  or  not,  and  I  remember  every  word  that  was  in  it." 

Hiram  asked  earnestly,  "Well,  what  was  It?  Is  his  sis 
ter  Alice  goin'  to  get  married?" 

-Mandy  answered,  "No,  she  is  sick  and  she  wanted  him 
to  come  right  up  -to  Boston  at  once  to  see  her." 

Hiram  said,  "'Zekiel  must  think  a  powerful  lot  of  that 
sister  of  his'n.  Went  right  off  to  Boston  without  his  break 
fast." 

"I  guess  it  would  have  to  be  something  nearer  than  a 
sister  to  make  you  do  that,"  said  Mandy.  "I  don't  know  but 
one  thing,  Hiram,  that  would  make  you  go  without  your 
feed.0 

"What's  that,  Mandy?"  said  he.    "You?" 

"No,"  replied  Mandy,  "a  famine." 

"You  ain't  no  sort  of  an  idea  as  to  what's  the  matter 
with  her,  have  you?"  he  asked. 

"No,  I  haven't,"  said  Mandy,  "and  if  I  had  I  don't  im 
agine  I  would  tell  you.  Now  you  'better  run  right  home, 


CITY  SKILL  VERSUS    COUNTRY  MUSCLE.  61 

little  boy,  for  I  have  to  go  upstairs  and  do  the  chamber 
work." 

She  whisked  out  of  the  room,  and  Hiram,  helping  himself 
to  a  couple  of  apples,  left  the  house  and  walked  slowly 
along  the  road  towards  Eastborough  Centre. 

Suddenly  he  espied  a  man  coming  up  the  road  and  soon 
saw  it  was  Quincy  Adams  Sawyer. 

"Just  the  feller  I  wanted  to  see,"  soliliquized  Hiram. 

As  Quincy  reached  him  he  said,  "Mr.  Sawyer,  I  want 
to  speak  to  you  a  minute  or  two.  Come  into  Pettengill's 
barn,  there's  nobody  to  hum  but  Mandy  and  she's  upstairs 
makin'  the  beds.'' 

They  -entered  the  barn  and  sat  down  on  a  couple  of  half 
barrels  that  served  for  stools. 

"Mr.  Sawyer,  you've  treated  me  fust  rate  since  you've 
been  here  and  I  want  to  do  you  a  good  turn  and  put  you 
on  your  guard." 

Quincy  laughed. 

Hiram  continued,  "Well,  maybe  you  won't  laugh  if  Bob 
Wood  tackles  you.  I  won't  tell  you  how  I  found  it  out 
for  I'm  no  eavesdropper,  but  keep  your  eye  on  Bob  Wood 
and  look  out  he  don't  play  no  mean  tricks  on  you." 

Quincy  remarked,  "I  suppose  Mr.  Strout  is  at  the  bottom 
of  this  and  he  has  hired  this  Bob  Wood  to  do  what  he  can't 
do  himself.'' 

"I  guess  you  have  got  it  about  right,  Mr.  Sawyer,"  said 
Hiram.  "Can  you  fight?"  he  asked  of  Quincy. 

"I  am  a  good  shot  with  a  rifle,"  Quincy  replied.  "I  can 
hit  the  ace  of  hearts  at  one  hundred  feet  with  a  pistol." 

"I  don't  mean  that,"  said  Hiram.  "Can  you  fight  with 
yer  fists?" 

"I  don't  know  much  about  it,"  said  Quincy  with  a  queer 
smile. 

"Then  I  am  afraid  you  will  find  Bob  Wood  a  pretty 
tough  customer.  He  can  lick  any  two  fellers  in  town.  Why, 


62  QUINCY  ADAMS  SAWYER. 

he  polished  off  Cobb's  twins  one  day  in  kss  than  five  min 
utes,  both  of  'em." 

"Where  does  this  Bob  Wood  spend  most  of  his  time?" 
asked  Quincy. 

"He  loafs  around  Hill's  grocery.  When  he  ain't  wokin' 
at  his  trade,"  said  Hiram,  "he  does  odd  jobs  for  the  Put- 
nams  in  summer  and  cuts  some  wood  for  them  in  winter. 
You  know  Lindy  Putnam,  the  gal  you  sang  with  at  the 
concert?" 

"Come  along,"  said  Quincy,  "I  feel  pretty  good  this 
morning,  we'll  walk  down  to  Hill's  and  see  if  that  Mr. 
Wood  has  anything  to  say  to  me." 

"Don't  you  think  the  best  plan,  Mr.  Sawyer,  would  be 
to  keep  out  of  his  way?"  queried  Hiram. 

"Well,  I  can't  tell  that,"  said  Quincy,  "until  I  get  better 
acquainted  with  him.  After  that  he  may  think  he'd  better 
keep  out  of  my  way." 

"Why,  he's  twice  as  big  as  you/'  cried  Hiram,  with  a 
look  of  astonishment  on  his  face. 

"Come  along,  Hiram/'  said  Quincy.  "By  the  way,  I 
haven't  seen  Miss  Putnam  since  the  concert.  I  think  I 
will  have  to  call  on  her." 

Hiram  laughed  until  his  face  was  as  red  as  a  beet. 

"By  gum,  that's  good,"  he  said,  as  he  struck  both  legs 
with  his  hands. 

"What's  good?"  asked  Quincy.  "Calling  on  Miss  Put 
nam?" 

"Yes,"  said  Hiram.    "Wouldn't  she  be  s'prised?" 

"Why?"  asked  Quincy.  "Such  a  call  wouldn't  be  con 
sidered  anything  out  of  the  way  in  the  city." 

"No,  nor  it  wouldn't  here,"  said  Hiram,  "but  for  the  fact 
that  Miss  Putnam  don't  encourage  callers.  She  goes  round 
a  visitin'  herself  ,and  she  treats  the  other  girls  fust  rate, 
'cause  she  has  plenty  of  money  and  can  afford  it.  But  she 
has  got  two  good  reasons  for  not  wantin'  visitors." 


CITY  SKILL  VERSUS    COUNTRY  MUSCLE.  63 

"What  are  they?"  asked  Quincy. 

"Well,  I'm  country  myself,"  said  Hiram,  "and  there  are 
others  in  Eastborough  that  are  more  country  than  I  am. 
But  if  you  want  to  see  and  hear  the  genooine  old  Rubes 
you  want  to  see  old  Sy  Putnam  and  his  wife  Heppyc" 

"But  Miss  Mason  said  Miss  Putnam  was  quite  wealthy." 

"You  bet  she  is,"  said  Hiram.  "She's  worth  hundreds 
of  millions  of  dollars." 

"I  think  you  must  mean  thousands,"  remarked  Quincy. 

"Well,  as  far  as  Pm  concerned,"  said  Hiram,  "when  you 
talk  about  millions  or  thousands  of  money,  one's  just  the 
same  to  me  as  t'other.  I  never  seed  so  much  money  in  my 
life  as  I  seed  since  you've  been  here,  but  I  don't  want  you  to 
think  I'm  beggin'  for  more." 

"No,"  said  Quincy,  "I  should  never  impute  such  a  motive 
to  you." 

Quincy  took  a  dollar  bill  from  his  pocket  and  held  it  up 
before  Hiram. 

"What's  that?"  he  asked. 

"That's  one  hundred  cents,"  said  Hiram,  "considerably 
more  than  I  have  got." 

"Well,"  said  Quincy,  "if  you  tell  me  why  Miss  Putnam 
doesn't  like  callers  I  will  give  you  that  dollar." 

"Stop  a  minute,"  replied  Hiram.  "Soon  as  we  turn  this 
next  corner  we'll  be  in  full  sight  of  the  grocery  store.  You 
can  go  ahead  and  I'll  slip  'cross  lots  and  come  up  from 
behind  the  store.  If  Wood  thought  I'd  told  you  he  would 
lick  me  and  I'm  no  fighter.  Now  about  Miss  Putnam," 
dropping  his  voice,  "I  heard  it  said,  and  I  guess  it's  pretty 
near  the  truth,  that  she  is  so  blamed  stuck  up  and  dresses 
so  fine  in  city  fashions  that  she  is  just  'shamed  of  her  old 
pa  and  ma  and  don't  want  nobody  to  see  'em." 

"But,"  asked  Quincy,  "where  did  she  get  her  money?" 

Hiram  answered,  "From  'her  only  brother.  He  went 
down  to  Boston,  made  a  pile  of  money,  then  died  and  left 


94  QUINCY  ADAMS  SAWYER. 

it  all  to  Lindy.  If  what  I've  told  you  ain't  gospel  truth  it's 
mighty  near  it  Well,  I'll  see  you  later,  Mr.  Sawyer." 

And  Hiram  ran  down  a  path  that  led  across  the  fields. 

Quincy  turned  the  corner  and  walked  'briskly  towards 
Hill's  grocer>r  store.  A  dozen  or  more  young-  men  and  as 
many  older  ones  were  lounging1  about  the  platform  that 
ran  the  whole  length  of  the  store,  for  it  was  a  very  mild 
day  in  January,  and  the  snow  was  rapidly  leaving  under  the 
influence  of  what  might  be  called  a  January  thaw. 

Quincy  walked  through  the  crowd,  giving  a  friendly  nod 
to  several  faces  that  looked  familiar,  but  the  names  of  whose 
owners  were  unknown  to  him.  He  entered  the  store,  found 
a  letter  from  his  mother  and  another  from  his  sister  Gertie, 
and  saying  "Good  morning"  to  Mir.  Hill,  who  was  the 
village  postmaster,  soon  reached  the  platform  again. 

As  he  did  so  a  heavily  built  young  fellow,  fully  six  feet 
tall  and  having  a  coarse  red  face,  stepped  up  to  him  and 
said  brusquely,  "I  believe  your  name's  Sawyer." 

"Your  belief  is  well  founded,"  replied  Quincy.  "I  regret 
that  I  do  not  know  your  name." 

"Well,  you  won't  have  to  suffer  long  before  you  find  out," 
said  the  fellow.  "My  name's  Robert  Wood,  or  Bob  Wood 
for  short." 

"Ah!  I  see/'  said  Quincy.  "Robert  for  long  wood  and 
Bob  for  short  wood.'' 

Wood's  face  grew  redder. 

"I  s'pose  you  think  that's  mighty  smart  makin'  fun  of 
folks'  names.  I  guess  there  ain't  much  doubt  but  what  you 
said  what  a  friend  of  mine  tells  me  you  did." 

Quincy  remarked  calmly,  "Well,  what  did  your  friend 
say  I  said  about  you?" 

By  this  time  the  loungers  in  and  outside  the  store  had 
gathered  around  the  two  talkers.  Wood  seemed  encour 
aged  and  braced  up  by  the  presence  of  so  many  friends. 
He  walked  up  close  to  Quincy  and  said,  "Well,  my  friend 


CITY  SKILL  VEESUS  COUNTRY  MUSCLE.  6fl 

told  me  that  you  said  there  was  but  one  jackass  in  East 
borough  and  he  sang  bass  in  the  quartette." 

Quincy  paled  a  little,  but  replied  firmly,  "I  never  said 
it,  and  if  your  friend  says  I  did  he  lies  and  he  knows  it." 

At  this  juncture,  as  if  prearranged,  Obadiah  Strout  sud 
denly  emerged  from  the  grocery  store. 

''What's  the  matter,  gentlemen?3'  asked  Mr.  Strout. 

"Well,"  said  Wood,  "I  told  this  young  man  what  you 
said  he  said,  and  he  says  you're  a  liar.'' 

"Well,"  said  Strout  pompously,  "I  know  that  he  said  it 
and  I  have  witnesses  to  prove  it.  When  you  settle  with 
him  for  calling  you  a  jackass  I'll  settle  with  him  for  calling 
me  a  liar." 

"Take  your  coat  off,  Mr.  Sawyer,  and  get  ready.  I  won't 
keep  you  waitin*  but  a  few  moments,"  said  Bob. 

A  jeering  laugh  went  up  from  the  crowd.  Quincy,  turn 
ing,  saw  Hiram. 

"Here,  Hiram/'  said  he,  "hold  my  things." 

He  took  off  his  overcoat  and  then  his  black  Prince  Albert 
coat  and  passed  them  to  Hiram.  Then  he  removed  his  hat, 
which  he  also  handed  to  Hiram. 

Turning  to  Wood  he  said,  "Come  right  out  here,  Mr. 
Wood;  here  is  a  place  where  the  sun  has  kindly  removed 
the  snow  and  we  can  get  a  good  footing." 

Wood  followed  him,  and  the  crowd  formed  a  ring  about 
them. 

"Now,  Mr.  Wood,  or  perhaps  I  should  say  Bob  Wood 
for  short,  put  up  your  hands." 

Bob  put  them  up  in  defiance  of  all  rules  governing  box 
ing1.  This  was  enough  for  Quincy;  he  had  sized  up  his  man 
and  determined  to  make  the  most  of  his  opportunity. 

"Mr.  Wood,"  he  said  politely,  "before  I  hit  you  I  am 
going  to  tell  you  just  exactly  where  I  am  going  to  strike, 
x>  you  can't  blame  me  for  anything  that  may  happen.  I 
shall  commence  on  your  right  eye." 


66  QUIXCY  ADAMS   SAWYER. 

Wood's  face  grew  livid;  he  made  a  rush  at  Quincy  as 
though  he  would  fall  on  him  and  crush  him.  Quincy  easily 
eluded  him,  and  when  Wood  made  his  second  rush  at  him 
he  parried  a  right-hander,  and  before  Wood  could  recover, 
he  struck  him  a  square  blow  full  on  his  right  eye.  They 
faced  each  other  again. 

"Now,  Mr.  Wood,"  said  Quincy,  "I  see  you  have  a  watch 
in  your  vest  pocket.  Is  it  an  open-faced  watch?" 

"S'posin'  you  find  out,"  said  Wood,  glaring  at  Quincy 
with  his  left  eye,  his  right  one  being  closed  up. 

"Well,  then,"  remarked  Quincy,  ''you  will  be  obliged  to 
have  it  repaired,  for  I  am  going  to  hit  you  just  where 
that  watch  is  and  it  may  injure  it." 

Wood  was  more  wary  this  time  and  Quincy  was  more 
scientific.  He  gave  Wood  a  left-hander  in  the  region  of 
the  heart  which  staggered  him. 

They  faced  each  other  for  the  third  time. 

"I  regret  the  necessity  this  time,  'but  I  will  'be  obliged  to 
strike  you  full  in  the  face  and  in  my  excitement  may  hit 
your  nose." 

It  required  all  of  Quincy's  dexterity  to  avoid  the  wild 
rushes  and  savage  thrusts  made  by  Wood.  But  Quincy 
understood  every  one  of  the  boxer's  secrets  and  was  as 
light  and  agile  on  his  feet  as  a  cat.  It  was  three  minutes 
at  least  before  Quincy  got  the  desired  opening,  and  then 
he  landed  a  blow  on  Wood's  nose  that  sent  him  flat  upon 
his  back. 

"That's  enough,"  cried  the  crowd,  and  several  friends 
led  Wood  to  a  seat  on  the  platform. 

Quincy  turned  to  Strout.  "Now,  Mr.  Strout,  I  am  at 
your  service.'' 

"No,  sir,"  said  Strout,  "I  am  willing  to  fight  a  gentle 
man,  but  I  don't  fight  with  no  professional  prize  fighter 
like  you."  Turning  to  the  crowd:  "I  know  all  about  this 
fellow.  He  is  no  lawyer  at  all,  he  is  a  regular  prize  fighter, 


CITY  SKILL  VERSUS  COUNTRY  MUSCLE.  67 

and  down  in  Boston  he  is  known  by  the  name  of  Billy 
Shanks." 

Quincy  smiled.  Turning1  to  the  crowd  he  said,  "The 
statement  just  made  by  Mr.  Strout  is  like  his  statement  to 
Mr.  Wood.  The  first  was  a  lie,  the  second  is  a  lie,  and  the 
man  who  uttered  them  is  a  liar.  Good  morning,  gentle 
men." 

Quincy  went  to  Hiram,  who  helped  him  on  with  his 
coats.  They  walked  along  together.  After  they  turned 
the  corner  and  got  out  of  sight  of  the  grocery  store,  Hiram 
said: 

"Geewhilikins!  What  a  smasher  you  gave  him.  I 
thought  you  said  you  didn't  know  nothin'  about  fightin'." 

"I  don't  know  much,"  responded  Quincy.  "There  are 
a  dozen  men  in  Boston  who  could  do  to  me  just  exactly 
what  I  did  to  Bob  Wood.'* 


CHAPTER  IX. 

MR.    SAWYER    CALLS    ON    MISS    PUTNAM. 

QUINCY  had  a  double  purpose  in  calling  on  Lindy; 
he  actually  wished  to  see  her,  for  they  had  not  met 
since  the  concert,  but  his  principal  wish  was  to  meet  a  real 
old-fashioned  country  couple.  To  be  sure,  Deacon  Mason 
and  his  wife  often  dropped  into  the  vernacular,  but  the 
Deacon  was  a  very  dignified  old  gentleman  and  his  wife 
was  not  a  great  talker.  What  he  desired  was  to  find  one 
of  the  old-fashioned  style  of  country  women,  with  a  tongue 
hung  in  the  middle  and  running  at  'both  ends.  His  wish 
was  to  be  gratified. 

When  he  clanged  the  old  brass  knocker  on  the  door, 
Samanthy  Green  answered  the  call. 

"Is  Miss  Putnam  at  home?"  asked  Quincy  politely. 

"No,  she  ain't/'  said  Samanthy,  "but  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Put 
nam  is.  They're  allus  to  hum.  They  don't  go  nowheres 
from  one  year's  end  to  t'other." 

"I  would  like  to  see  them,"  said  Quincy. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Samanthy,  "walk  right  in." 

She  threw  open  the  door  of  the  sitting-room.  "Here's 
a  gentleman  that  wants  to  see  you,  Mis'  Putnam.  Least 
wise  he  asked  for  Lindy  fust." 

Samanthy  left  the  room,  slamming  the  door  after  her. 

"My  name  is  Sawyer,"  said  Quincy,  addressing  the  old 
lady  and  gentleman  who  were  seated  in  rocking  chairs. 
"I  met  your  daughter  at  the  concert  given  at  the  Town 
Hall  New- Year's  night." 

O 

Mrs.  Putnam  said,  "Glad  to  see  ye,  Mr.  Sawyer;  have  a 
chair." 


MR.  SAWYEK  CALLS  ON  MISS  PUTNAM.  69 

As  Quincy  laid  his  hand  upon  the  chair,  the  old  gentle 
man  called  out  in  a  voice  that  would  have  startled  a  bull  o! 
Bashan,  "What's  his  name,  Heppy?" 

Mrs.  Putnam  answered  in  a  shrill  voice  with  an  edge  like 
a  knife,  "Sawyer." 

"Sawyer!''  yelled  the  man.  "Any  relation  to  Jim  Saw 
yer  that  got  drunk,  beat  his  wife,  starved  his  children,  and 
finally  ended  up  in  the  town  Poorhouse?" 

Quincy  shook  his  head  and  replied,  "I  think  not.  I  don't 
live  here;  I  live  in  Bos-ton.'' 

"Du  tell,"  said  Mrs.  Putnam.  "How  long  you  been 
here?" 

Quincy  replied  that  he  arrived  two  days  after  Christmas. 

"Where  be  you  stoppin'?"  asked  Mrs.  Putnam. 

Quincy  answered,  "I  am  boarding  at  Deacon  Mason's." 

"He's  a  nice  old  gentleman,"  said  Mrs.  Putnam,  'rand 
Mrs.  Mason's  good  as  they  make  'em.  Her  daughter 
Huldy's  a  pert  young  thing,  she's  pretty  and  she  knows  it.'' 

Quincy  remarked  that  he  thought  Miss  Mason  was  a 
very  nice  young  lady. 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Mrs.  Putnam,  "you  young  fellers  never 
look  more  than  skin  deep.  Now  the  way  she  trifles  with 
that  young  'Zekiel  Pettengill  I  think's  shameful.  They  ust 
to  have  a  spat  every  week  about  somethin',  but  they  allus 
made  it  up.  But  I  heard  Lindy  say  that  after  you  come 
here,  'Zeke  he  got  huffy  and  Huldy  she  got  independent, 
and  they  hain't  spoke  to  each  other  nigh  on  two  weeks." 

This  was  a  revelation  to  Quincy,  but  he  was  to  hear  more 
about  it  very  soon. 

"How  long  be  you  goin'  to  stay,  Mr.  Sawyer?" 

"I  haven't  decided,''  said  Quincy. 

"What's  your  business?"  persisted  Mrs.  Putnam. 

"I  am  a  lawyer,"  replied  Quincy. 

Mrs.  Putnam  looked  at  him  inquiringly  and  said,  "Be  n't 
you  rather  young  for  a  lawyer?  How  old  be  you,  anyway?" 


70  QUINCY  ADAMS   SAWYER. 

Quincy  decided  to  take  a  good  humored  part  in  his  cross 
examination  and  said  without  a  smile,  "I  am  twenty-three 
years,  two  months,  sixteen  days  old." 

"Be  you?"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Putnam.  "I  shouldn't  have 
said  you  were  a  day  over  nineteen.'' 

Quincy  never  felt  his  youth  so  keenly  before.  He  deter« 
mined  to  change  the  conversation. 

"Did  you  attend  the  concert,  Mrs.  Putnam?" 

"No,"  said  she.  "Pa  and  me  don't  go  out  much;  he's 
deefer'n  a  stone  post  and  I've  had  the  rheumatiz  so  bad  in 
my  knees  for  the  last  five  years  that  I  can't  walk  without 
crutches ;"  and  she  pointed  to  a  pair  that  lay  on  the  floor 
beside  her  chair. 

During  this  conversation  old  Mr.  Putnam  had  'been  eying 
Quincy  very  keenly.  He  blurted  out,  "He's  a  chip  of  the 
old  block,  Heppy;  he  looks  just  as  Jim  did  when  he  fust 
came  to  this  town.  Did  yer  say  yer  had  an  Uncle  Jim?" 

Quincy  shook  his  head. 

Mrs.  Putnam  turned  to  her  husband  and  yelled,  "Now 
you  shet  up,  Silas,  and  don't  bother  the  young  man.  Jinn 
Sawyer  ain't  nothin'  Ao  be  proud  of,  and  I  don't  blame  the 
young  man  for  not  ownin'  up  even  if  Jim  is  his  uncle." 

Quincy  made  another  attempt  to  change  the  conversa 
tion.  "Your  daughter  is  a  very  fine  singer,  Mrs.  Putnam.'* 

"Well,  I  s'pose  so,"  said  she;  "there's  been  enougfi 
money  spent  on  her  to  make  suthin'  of  her.  As  for  me  I 
don't  like  this  folderol  singin'.  Why,  when  she  ust  to  be 
practisin'  I  had  to  go  up  in  the  attic  or  else  stuff  cotton 
in  my  ears.  But  my  son,  Jehoiakim  Jones  Putnam,  he  sot 
everythin'  by  Lncinda,  and  there  wasn't  anythin'  she 
wanted  that  she  couldn't  have.  He's  dead  now,  but  he 
left  more'n  a  hundred  thousand  dollars,  that  he  made  specu- 
latin'." 

"Then  your  daughter  will  be  quite  an  heiress  one  of 
these  days,  Mrs.  Putnam?'' 


AND  THEN   HE   LANDED  A  BLOW   ON   WOOD'S   NOSE." 


ME,  SAWYER  CALLS  Otf  MISS  PUTXAM.  71 

She  answered,  "She  won't  get  none  of  my  money. 
Jehoiak-im  left  her  all  of  his'n,  but  before  she  got  it  she  had 
to  sign  a  paper,  a  wafer,  I  believe  they  call  it,  if  you're  a 
lawyer  you  ought  to  know  what  it  was,  givin'  up  all  claim 
on  my  money.  I  made  my  will  and  the  girl  who'll  get  it 
needs  it  and  will  make  good  use  of  it." 

Quincy  determined  to  get  even  with  Mrs.  Putnam  for 
the  questioning  she  put  him  through,  so  he  said,  "Did  you 
make  your  money  speculating,  Mrs.  Putnam?" 

"•No,"  said  she,  "pa  made  it  by  hard  work  on  the  farm: 
hn.it  he  gave  it  all  to  me  more'n  fifteen  year  ago,  and  he 
hasn't  got  a  cent  to  his  name.  He's  just  as  bad  off  as  Jim 
Sawyer.  I  feed  him  and  clothe  him  and  shall  have  to  bury 
him.  I  guess  it  seems  kinder  odd  to  ye,  so  I  reckon  I'll 
have  to  tell  ye  the  hull  story.  I've  told  it  a  dozen  times, 
but  I  guess  it'll  bear  tellin'  once  more.  You  see  my  hus 
band  here,  Silas  Putnam,  was  brought  up  religis  and  he's 
allus  been  a  chiirchgoin'  man.  We  were  both  Methodists, 
and  everythin'  went  all  right  till  one  day  a  Second  Advent 
preacher  came  along,  and  then  things  went  all  wrong.  He 
canoodled  my  husband  into  believin'  that  the  end  of  the 
world  was  comin'  and  it  was  his  duty  to  give  all  his  prop 
erty  away,  so  he  could  stand  clean  handed  afore  the  Lord, 
My  dander  riz  when  I  heerd  them  makin'  their  plans,  but 
afore  my  husband  got  deef  he  was  great  on  argifyin'  and 
argumentin',  and  I  didn't  stand  much  show  against  two  on 
'em;  but  when  Silas  told  me  he  was  goin'  to  give  his  prop 
erty  away  I  sot  up  my  Ebenezer,  and  I  says,  'Silas  Putnam, 
if  you  gives  your  property  to  any  one  you  gives  it  to  me.' 
So  after  a  long  tussle  it  was  settted  that  way  and  the  lawyers 
drew  up  the  papers.  The  night  afore  the  world  was  goin' 
to  end  he  prayed  a-11  night.  You  can  imagine  with  that  air 
voice  of  his'n  I  didn't  sleep  a  wink.  When  mornin'  came— 
it  was  late  in  October  and  the  air  was  pretty  sharp — Silas 
stopped  prayin'  '^nd  put  on  his  white  robe,  which  was  a 


72 

shirt  of  hisn't  I  pieced  out  so  it  came  down  to  his  feet,  and 
takin'  a  tin  trumpet  that  he  bought  over  to  Eastborough 
Centre,  he  went  out,  climbed  up  on  the  barn,  sot  down  on 
the  ridgepole  and  waited  for  Kingdom  Come.  He  sot 
there  and  tooted  all  mornin'  and  'spected  the  angel  Gabriel 
would  answer  back.  He  sot  there  and  tooted  all  the  arter- 
noon  till  the  cows  come  home  and  the  chickens  went  to 
roost.  I  had  three  good  square  meals  that  day,  but  Silas 
didn't  get  -a  bite.  'Bout  six  o'clock  I  did  think  of  takin' 
him  out  some  doughnuts,  but  then  I  decided  if  he  was  goin' 
up  so  soon  it  was  no  use  a  wastin'  em,  so  I  put  'em  back  in 
the  pantry,  fie  sot  there  and  tooted  all  the  evenin'  till  the 
moon  come  up  and  the  stars  were  all  out,  and  then  he  slid 
down  off'n  the  barn,  and  barked  both  his  shins  doin'  it, 
threw  his  trumpet  into  the  pig  pen,  come  into  the  house  and 
huddled  up  close  to  the  fire.  He  didn't  say  nothin'  for  a 
spell,  but  finally  says  he,  'I  guess,  Heppy,  that  feller  made  a 
mistake  in  figurin'  out  the  date.'  'I  guess-  Silas,'  says  I, 
'that  you've  made  an  all-fired  fool  of  yerself.  And  if  you 
don't  go  to  bed  quick  and  take  a  rum  sweat,  I  shall  be  a 
widder  in  a  very  short  time.'  He  was  sick  for  more'n  three 
weeks,  but  I  pulled  him  through  by  good  nussin',  arid  the 
fust  day  he  was  able  to  set  up,  I  says  to  him,  'Now,  Silas 
Putnam,  when  I  married  ye  forty-five  year  ago  I  promised 
to  obey  ye,  ye  was  allus  a  good  perwider  and  I  don't  per- 
pose  to  see  yer  want  for  nothin',  but  ye  have  got  to  hold  up 
yer  right  hand  and  swear  to  obey  me  for  the  rest  of  yer 
nateral  life,'  and  he  did  it.  He  got  well,  and  he  is  tougher'n 
a  biled  owl,  if  he  is  eighty-six.  But  the  cold  sorter  settled  in 
his  ears,  and  he's  deef  as  an  adder.  Ef  angel  Gabriel  blew 
his  horn  now  I'm  afeared  Silas  wouldn't  hear  him." 

During  this  long  story  Ouincy  had  listened  without  a 
smile  on  his  face,  but  the  manner  in  which  the  last  remark 
was  made  was  too  much  for  him  and  he  burst  into  a  loud 
laugh.  Silas,  who  had  been  eying  him,  also  gave  a  loud 


MR.  SAWYER  CALLS  ON  MISS  PUTNAM.  74 

laugh  and  said  with  his  ponderous  voice,  "I  guess  Heppy's 
been  tellin'  ye  about  my  goin'  up." 

Quincy  laughed  again  and  Mrs.  Putnam  took  part.  He 
arose,  told  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Putnam  he  had  enjoyed  his  visit 
very  much,  was  very  sorry  Miss  Putnam  was  not  at  home, 
and  said  he  would  call  again,  with  their  kind  permission. 

"Oh,  drop  in  any  time,"  said  MJrs.  Putnam;  "we're  allus 
to  hum.  You  seem  to  be  a  nice  young  man,  but  you're  too 
young  to  marry.  Why,  Lindy's  twenty-eight,  and  I  tell  her 
she  don't  know  enough  to  get  married  yet.  Ef  you'll  take 
a  bit  of  advice  from  an  old  woman,  let  me  say,  'less  you 
mean  to  marry  the  girl  yourself,  you'd  better  git  away  from 
Deacon  Mason's." 

And  with  this  parting  shot  ringing  in  his  ears,  he  left 
the  house  and  made  his  way  homeward. 

In  half  an  hour  after  Quincy's  departure,  Lindy  Putnam 
entered  the  sitting-room  and  facing  her  mother  said  with  a 
voice  full  of  passion,  "Samanthy  says  Mr.  Sawyer  called  to 
see  me." 

Mrs.  Putnam  answered,  "Well,  ef  ye  wanted  to  see  him 
so  much  why  didn't  ye  stay  to  hum?" 

Lindy  continued,  "Well,  I  have  told  you;  a  dozen  times 
that  when  people  come  to  see  me  that  you  are  not  to  invite 
them  in." 

"Wall,  I  didn't,"  said  Mrs.  Putnam,  "When  he  found 
you  wuz  out  he  said  he  wanted  to  see  pa  and  me,  and  he 
stayed  here  more'n  an  hour." 

"Yes,"  said  Lindy,  "no  doubt  you  told  him  all  about  pa's 
turning  Second  Advent  and  how  much  money  1  had,  and 
you  have  killed  all  my  chances." 

"Well,  I  guess  not/'  said  Mrs.  Putnam.  *I  told  him 
about  your  brother  leavin'  yer  all  his  money,  and  I  guess 
that  won't  drive  'him  away." 

Lindy  continued,  "Money  don't  count  with  him;  they 
say  his  father  is  worth  more  than  a  million  dollars." 


f4  QUINCY  ADAMS  SAWYER 

Mrs.  Putnam  answered,  "Wall,  I  s'pose  there's  a  dozea 
or  so  to  divide  it  among." 

Undy  said,  "Did  you  tell  him  who  you  were  going  to 
leave  your  money  to?" 

"No,  I  didn't,"  replied  Mrs.  Putnam.  "But  I  did  tell 
him  that  you  wouldn't  get  a  cent  of  it." 

Lindy  sobbed,  "I  think  it  is  a  shame,  mother.  I  like  him 
better  than  any  young  man  I  have  ever  met,  and  now  after 
what  you  have  told  me  I  sha'n't  see  him  again.  I  have  a 
good  mind  to  leave  you  for  good  and  all  and  go  to  Boston 
to  live." 

"Wall,  you're  your  own  mistress,"  replied  Mrs.  Putnam, 
"and  I'm  my  own  mistress  and  pa's.  Come  to  think  on't, 
there  was  one  thing  I  said  to  him  that  might  sot  him  against 
yer." 

"What  was  that?"  demanded  IJndy  fiercely. 

"Wall,"  said  Mrs.  Putnam,  "he  said  he  was  twenty-three, 
and  I  sort  a  told  him  incidentally  you  was  twenty-eight 
You  know  yer  thirty,  and  p'raps  he  might  object  to  ye  on 
account  of  yer  age." 

This  was  too  much  for  Lindy.  She  rushed  out  of  the 
room  and  up  to  her  chamber,  where  she  threw  herself  on 
her  bed  in  a  passion  of  tears. 

"It's  too  bad,"  she  cried.  "I  will  see  him  again,  I  will 
find  some  way,  and  I'll  win  him  yet,  even  if  I  am  twenty- 
eight." 

Two  days  afterwards  Hiram  told  Mandy  that  he  heard 
down  to  Hill's  grocery  that  that  city  chap  had  two  strings 
to  his  bow  now.  He  was  courting  the  Deacon's  daughter^ 
but  had  been  up  to  see  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Putnam  to  find  out 
how  much  money  Undy  had  in  her  own  right,  and  to  see 
if  there  was  any  prospect  of  getting  anything  out  of  the 
old  folks. 


CHAPTER  X. 

VILLAGE  GOSSIP. 

FTER  supper  on  the  day  he  had  been  visiting  Mr 
and  Mrs.  Putnam,  Quincy  went  to  his  room  and 
wrote  a  long  letter  to  his  father,  inquiring  if  he  ever  had  an 
uncle  by  the  name  of  James  Sawyer.  Before  retiring  he  sat 
and  thought  over  the  experiences  of  the  past  fortnight  since 
his  arrival  in  Eastborough,  but  the  most  of  his  thoughts 
were  given  to  the  remark  made  by  Mrs.  Putnam  about  his 
leaving  Deacon  Mason's.  He  had  been  uniformly  polite 
and  to  a  slight  degree  attentive  to  Miss  Mason.  The  Dea 
con's  horse  was  a  slow  one,  and  so  on  several  occasions  he 
had  hired  a  presentable  rig  and  a  good  stepper  over  to 
Eastborough  Centre,  and  had  taken  Miss  Mason  out  to  ride. 
He  reflected  now,  as  he  had  never  done  before,  that  of 
course  the  whole  town  knew  this,  and  the  thought  came 
home  to  him  strongly  that  by  so  doing  he  might  have  in 
flicted  a  triple  injury  upon  Miss  Mason,  Mr.  Pettingill,  and 
himself.  He  was  not  in  love  with  Miss  Mason,  nor  Mass 
Putnam;  they  were  both  pretty  girls,  and  in  'the  city  it  was 
the  custom  to  be  attentive  to  pretty  girls  without  regard  tc 
consequences. 

He  had  asked  Miss  Mason  to  go  riding  with  him  the  next 
day,  but  he  inwardly  resolved  that  it  would  be  the  last  time 
he  would  take  her,  and  he  was  in  doubt  whether  to  go  back 
to  the  city  at  once  or  go  to  some  other  town  and  board  at  a 
hotel,  or  look  around  and  find  some  other  place  in  East- 
borough.  One  consideration  kept  him  from  leaving 


76  QUINCY  ADAMS  SAWYER. 

Eastborough;  he  knew  that  if  he  did  so  the  singing-master 
would  claim  that  he  had  driven  him  out  of  town,  and 
although  he  had  a  hearty  contempt  for  the  man,  he  was 
too  high  spirited  to  leave  town  and  give  the  people  any 
reason  to  think  that  Strout's  antipathy  to  him  had  anything 
to  do  with  it. 

Finally  a  bright  idea  struck  him.  Why  hadn't  he 
thought  of  it  before?  He  would  go  and  see  Uncle  Ike, 
state  the  case  frankly  and  ask  him  to  let  him  live  with  him 
for  a  month.  He  could  'bunk  in  the  kitchen,  and  he  pre 
ferred  Uncle  Ike's  conversation  to  that  of  any  other  of  the 
male  sex  whom  he  had  met  in  Eastborough.  With  this 
idea  firmly  fixed  in  his  mind  he.  retired  and  slept  peacefully. 

While  Quincy  was  debating  with  himself  and  coming  to 
the  conclusion  previously  mentioned,  another  conversation, 
in  which  his  name  often  occurred,  took  place  in  Deacon 
Mason's  kitchen. 

The  old  couple  were  seated  by  the  old-fashioned  fireplace, 
in  Which  a  wood  fire  wras  burning.  The  stove  had  super 
seded  the  hanging  crane  and  the  tin  oven  for  cooking  pur 
poses,  'but  Deacon  Mason  clung  to  the  old-fashioned  fire 
place  for  heat  and  light.  The  moon  was  high  and  its  rays 
streamed  in  through  the  windows,  the  curtains  of  which 
had  not  been  drawn. 

For  quite  a  while  they  sat  in  silence,  then  Deacon  Mason 
said,  "There  is  something  I  want  to  speak  about,  mother, 
and  yet  I  don't  want  to.  I  know  there  is  nothing  to  it  and 
nothing  likely  to  come  of  it,  but  the  fact  is,  mother,  Huldy's 
bein'  talked  about  down  to  the  Corner,  'caus«  Mr.  Sawyer  is 
boardin'  here.  You  know  she  goes  out  ridin'  with  him, 
which  ain't  no  harm,  and  she  has  a  sort  o'  broken  with 
'Zekiel,  for  which  I  am  sorry,  for  'Zekiel  is  one  of  the  likely 
young  men  of  the  town." 

"So  I  do,  father,''  said  Mrs.  Mason,  "and  if  you  don't 
meddle,  things  will  come  out  all  right.  Mr.  Sawyer  don't 


VILLAGE  GOSSIP.  77 

care  nothing  for  Huldy,  and  I  don't  think  she  cares  any. 
thing  for  him.  He  will  be  going  back  to  the  city  in  a  little 
while  and  then  things  will  be  all  right  again." 

"Well,"  said  the  Deacon,  "I  think  Huldy  better  stop 
goin'  out  to  ride  with  him  anyway;  she  is  high  spirited, 
and  if  I  tell  her  not  to  go  she'll  want  to  know  why." 

"But,"  broke  in  Mrs.  Mason,  "ef  you  tell  him,  won't  he 
want  to  know  why?" 

"Well,  perhaps,"  said  the  Deacon,  "but  I  will  speak  to 
him  anyway.'' 

The  next  morning  after  'breakfast  Deacon  Mason  asked 
Mr.  Sawyer  to  step  into  the  parlor,  and  remarking  that 
when  he  had  anything  to  say  he  always  said  it  right  out,  he 
asked  Quincy  if  he  was  on  good  terms  with  Mr.  'Zekiel 
Pettengill. 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Quincy.  "I  don't  know  of  anything 
that  I  have  done  at  which  he  could  take  offence,  but  he 
keeps  away  from  me,  and  when  I  do  meet  him  and  speak 
to  him,  a  'yes'  or  'no'  is  all  I  get  in  reply." 

"Haven't  you  any  idea  what  makes  him  treat  you  so?'' 
asked  the  Deacon. 

Quincy  flushed. 

"Yes,  Mr.  Mason,  I  think  I  do  know,  but  it  never  en 
tered  my  mind  until  late  yesterday  afternoon,  and  then  it 
was  called  to  my  attention  by  a  stranger.  I  am  glad  I  have 
this  chance  to  speak  to  you,  Mr.  Mason,  for  while  I  have 
had  a  very  enjoyable  time  here,  I  have  decided  to  find 
another  boarding  place,  and  I  shall  leave  just  as  soon  as  1 
make  the  necessary  arrangements." 

The  Deacon  was  a  little  crestfallen  at  having  the  business 
taken  out  of  his  hands  so  quickly,  and  saying  he  was  very 
sorry  to  have  the  young  man  go,  he  sought  his  wife  and  told 
her  everything  was  fixed  up  and  that  Mr.  Sawyer  was  going 
away. 

Quincy  started  to  leave  the  house  by  the  front  door;  in 


TO  QUINCY  ADAMS  SAWTEK. 

the  hallway  he  met  Huldy,  who  had  just  come  down  stairs. 
He  had  asked  her  to  go  to  ride  with  him  that  day,  and  as  he 
looked  at  her  pretty  face  he  vowed  to  himself  that  he  would 
not  be  deprived  of  that  pleasure.  It  could  do  no  harm,  for 
it  would  be  their  last  ride  together  and  probably  their  last 
meeting. 

He  said,  "Good  morning,  Miss  Mason,"  and  then  added 
with  that  tone  which  the  society  belle  considers  a  matter  of 
course,  but  which  is  so  pleasing  to  the  village  maiden, 
"You  look  charming  this  morning,  Miss  Mason.  I  don't 
think  our  ride  to-day  could  make  your  cheeks  any  redder 
than  they  are  now.''  Huldy  blushed,  making  her  cheeks  a 
still  deeper  crimson.  "I  will  be  here  at  one  o'clock  with 
the  team,3'  said  Quincy.  "Will  you  be  ready?'' 

"Yes,"  answered  Huldy  softly. 

Quincy  raised  his  hat,  and  a  moment  later  he  was  on  his 
way  to  Eastborough  Centre. 

He  walked  briskly  and  thought  he  would  stop  at  Uncle 
Ike's  and  carry  out  the  resolution  he  had  made  the  night 
before,  but  as  he  turned  up  the  path  that  led  to  the  house  he 
saw  a  man  standing  on  the  steps  talking  to  Uncle  Ike,  who 
stood  in  the  doorway.  The  young  man  was  Ezekiel  Pet- 
tengill.  Shakespeare  says, 

"  'Tis  conscience  that  makes  cowards  of  us  all," 
and  although  Quincy  at  heart  was  a  gentleman,  he  also 
knew  it  was  not  quite  right  for  him  to  take  Miss  Mason  out 
riding  again  under  the  circumstances;  but  young  men  are 
often  stubborn  and  Quincy  felt  a  little  stiff-necked  and 
rebellious  that  morning. 

He  reached  Eastborough  Centre,  mailed  his  father  the 
letter  relating  to  Jim  Sawyer,  and  going  to  the  stable, 
picked  out  the  best  rig  it  could  supply.  He  always  had  the 
same  horse.  It  was  somewhat  small  in  size,  but  a  very 
plump,  white  mare;  she  was  a  good  roadster  and  it  was 
never  necessary  to  touch  her  with  the  whip.  Shake  it  in 


VILLAGE  GOSSIP.  7f 

the  stock  and  she  would  not  forget  it  for  the  next  two  miles. 
The  stable  keeper  told  with  much  unction  how  two  fellows 
hired  her  to  go  from  Eastborough  Centre  to  Montrose.  On 
their  way  home  they  had  drunk  quite  freely  at  the  latter 
place,  and  thought  they  would  touch  the  mare  up  with  the 
whip;  they  were  in  an  open  team  and  the  result  was  ths.1 
she  left  them  at  different  points  along  the  road  and  reached 
home  with  no  further  impediment  to  her  career  than  the 
shafts  and  the  front  wheels. 

Instead  of  coming  back  by  the  main  road  which  led  by 
Uncle  Ike's,  Quincy  went  through  by  what  was  called  The 
Willows,  which  increased  the  distance  a  couple  of  miles. 
Nevertheless,  it  lacked  five  minutes  of  one  o'clock  when  he 
drove  up  to  Deacon  Mason's  front  door. 

Huldy  was  all  dressed  for  the  occasion,  and  with  a  "Good- 
by,  mother,"  to  Mrs.  Mason,  who  was  in  the  kitchen,  was 
out  the  front  door,  helped  into  the  team,  and  they  were  off 
just  as  the  startled  matron  reached  the  parlor  window. 
Mrs.  Mason  returned  to  the  kitchen  and  at  that  moment  the 
Deacon  came  in  from  the  barn. 

"What's  the  matter,  mother?"  asked  the  Deacon,  noticing 
her  excited  and  somewhat  troubled  look. 

"Huldy  is  gone  out  riding  again  with  Mr.  Sawyer,"  said 
she. 

The  Deacon  was  a  good  Christian  man  and  didn't  swear, 
but  he  was  evidently  thinking  deeply.  Finally  he  said, 
"Well,  mother,  we  must  make  -the  best  of  it.  I'll  help 
him  find  a  boarding  place  if  he  don't  get  one  by  to-morrow." 

They  had  a  splendid  drive.  The  air  was  cool,  but  not 
biting,  the  sun  was  warm,  the  roads  had  dried  up  since  the 
recent  thaw,  which  had  removed  the  snow,  with  the  excep 
tion  of  some  patches  in  the  fields,  and  the  high-topped 
ku§"gy  rolled  smoothly  over  the  ground. 

They  passed  through  the  little  square  in  front  of  Hill's 
grocery,  and  as  luck  would  have  it,  Professor  Strout  was 


BO  QUIXCY  ADAMS   SAWYER. 

standing  on  the  platform  smoking  a  cigar.  Huldy  smiled 
and  nodded  to  him,  and  Quincy,  with  true  politeness,  fol 
lowed  a  city  custom  and  raised  his  hat,  but  the  Professor 
did  not  return  the  bow,  nor  the  salute,  but  turning  on  his 
heel  walked  into  the  grocery  store. 

"Professor  Strout  is  not  very  polite,  is  he,  Mr.  Sawyer?", 
asked  Huldy,  laughing. 

Quincy  replied,  looking  straight  ahead,  "He  has  never 
learned  the  first  letter  in  the  alphabet  of  the  art." 

Quincy  had  a  disagreeable  duty  to  perform.  He  enjoyed 
Miss  Huldy's  company,  but  she  was  not  Ihe  sort  of  girl  Vie 
could  love  enough  to  make  his  wife.  Then  the  thought 
came  to  him,  supposing  she  should  fall  in  love  with  him; 
that  was  not  impossible,  and  it  must  be.  prevented. 

When  they  were  about  half  a  mile  from  Mason's  Corner, 
on  their  way  home,  Quincy  realized  that  he  could  not  put 
the  matter  off  any  longer. 

Just  as  he  was  going  to  speak  to  her  she  turned  to  him 
and  said,  "Let  me  drive  the  rest  of  the  way  home,  Mr. 
Sawyer." 

"6h,  no,"  replied  Quincy,  "I  think  I  had  better  keep  the 
reins.  You  know  I  am  responsible  for  you  until  you  are 
saie  at  home." 

Huldy  pouted.  "You  think  I  can't  drive,"  said  she,  "I 
have  driven  horses  all  my  life.  Please  let  me,  Mr.  Sawyer," 
she  added  coaxingly.  And  she  'took  the  reins  from  his 
hands. 

"Well,"  said  Quincy,  "you  are  now  responsible  for  me 
and  I  shall  expect  you  to  be  very  careful.5' 

They  drove  a  short  distance  in  silence;  then  Quincy 
turned  to  her  and  said  abruptly,  "This  is  our  last  ride  to 
gether,  Miss  Mason." 

"Why?"  inquired  she  with  an  astonished  look  in  her  face. 

"I  am  going  to  leave  your  very  pleasant  home  to 
morrow,"  said  Quincy. 


VILLAGE  GOSSIP.  81 

The  girl's  cheeks  paled  perceptibly. 

"Are  you  going 'back  to  Boston?"  she  asked. 

"No,  not  for  some  time,"  Quincy  replied,  "but  I  have 
had  some  advice  given  me  and  I  think  it  best  to  follow  it/' 

"You  have  been  advised  to  leave  my  father's  house/' 
isaid  she,  holding  the  reins  listlessly  in  her  hand. 
|    Quincy  said,  "You  won't  be  offended  if  I  tell  you  the 
whole  truth?" 

"No;  why  should  I?"  asked  Huldy. 

As  she  said  this  she  gathered  up  the  reins  and  gave  them 
a  sharp  pull.  The  white  mare  understood  this  to  be  a  sig 
nal  to  do  some  good  travelling  and  she  started  off  at  a 
brisk  trot. 

Quincy  said,  "I  was  told  yesterday  by  a  friend  that  if  I 
was  not  a  marrying  man  they  would  advise  me  to  leave 
Deacon  Mason's  house  at  once.'' 

The  blood  shot  into  Huldy's  face  at  once.  He  was  not  a 
marrying  man  and  consequently  he  was  going  to  leave. 
He  did  not  care  for  her  or  he  would  stay.  Then  another 
thought  struck  her.  Perhaps  he  was  going  away  because 
he  was  afraid  she  would  fall  in  love  with  him. 

As  the  Deacon  had  said,  she  was  high  spirited,  and  for  an 
instant  she  was  filled  with  indignation.  She  shut  her  eyes, 
and  her  heart  seemed  to  stop  its  beating.  She  heard 
Quincy's  voice,  "Look  out  for  the  curve,  Miss  Mason." 
She  dropped  the  left  rein  and  mechanically  gave  the  right 
one  a  strong,  sharp  pull  with  both  hands.  Quincy  grasped 
"the  reins,  but  it  was  too  late. 

Huldy's  pull  on  the  right  rein  had  thrown  the  horse 
almost  at  right  angles  to  the  buggy.  The  steep  hill  and 
sharp»curve  in  the  road  did  the  rest.  The  buggy  stood  for 
an  instant  on  two  wheels,  then  fell  on  its  side  with  a  crash, 
taking  the  horse  off  her  feet  at  the  same  time. 

Huldy  pitched  forward  as  the  buggy  was  falling,  striking 
her  left  arm  upon  the  wheel,  and  then  fell  into  the  road. 


82  QUINCY  ADAMS    SAWYER, 

Quincy  gave  a  quick  leap  over  the  dasher,  falling  on  the 
prostrate  horse,  and  grasping  her  by  the  head,  pressed  it 
to  the  ground.  The  mare  lay  motionless.  Quincy  rushed 
to  Miss  Mason  and  lifted  her  to  her  feet,  but  found  her  a 
dead  weight  in  his  arms.  He  looked  in  her  face.  Sire  had 
evidently  fainted.  Her  left  arm  hung  by  her  side  in  a  help 
less  sort  of  way;  he  touched  it  lightly 'between  the  elbow  and 
shoulder.  It  was  broken.  Grasping  her  in  'his  arms  he  ran 
to  the  back  door  and  burst  into  the  kitchen  where  Mrs. 
Mason  was  at  work. 

Quincy  said  in  quick,  excited  tones,  "There  'has  been  an 
accident,  Mrs.  Mason,  and  your  daughter's  arm  is  broken; 
she  has  also  fainted.  I  will  take  her  right  to  her  room  and 
put  her  on  her  bed.  You  can  bring  her  out  of  that,"  Suit 
ing  the  action  to  the  word,  he  took  Huldy  upstairs,  saying, 
"I  will  go  for  the  doctor  at  once." 

Then  he  dashed  down  the  stairs  and  out  of  the  front 
door;  as  he  reached  the  team  he  found  Hiram  standing 
beside  it,  his  eyes  wide  open  with  .astonishment. 

"Had  a  smash-up,  Mr.  Sawyer?"  he  asked.  "How  did  it 
happen?" 

"All  my  carelessness,"  said  Quincy.  "Come,  give  me  a 
lift  on  the  buggy,  quick." 

How  it  was  done  Quincy  could  never  tell  afterwards,  but 
in  a  very  short  time  the  buggy  was  righted,  the  mare  on  her 
feet  and  the  harness  adjusted.  Hiram  took  off  his  cap  and 
began  dusting  the  mare,  whose  white  coat  showed  the  dust 
very  plainly. 

"Where  does  the  nearest  doctor  live,  Hiram?"  asked 
Quincy. 

"Second  house  up  the  road  you  just  come  down,"  said 
Hiram.  "The  folks  say  he  don't  know  much,  anyway." 

"Well,  you  get  him  here  as  quick  as  possible,"  said 
Quincy.  "I  am  going  to  Eastborough  Centre  to  telegraph 


VILLAGE  GOSSIP,  83 

for  a  surgeon  and  a  trained  nurse.  Can  you  remember 
that?" 

Quincy  passed  him  a  dollar  bill. 

Hiram  winked  and  said,  "I  guess  I  can,"  and  darted  off 
up  the  hill. 

Quincy  sprang  into  the  team  and  the  white  mare  dashed 
forward  at  full  speed.  As  he  reached  the  Pettengill  house 
he  saw  Ezekiel  standing  at  the  front  gate.  With  difficulty 
he  pulled  the  mare  up,  for  she  was  greatly  excited. 

"Mr.  Pettengill,''  said  he,  "there  has  been  a  serious  acci 
dent.  Miss  Mason  has  been  thrown  from  her  carriage  and 
her  left  arm  is  'broken.  I  sent  Hiram  for  a  doctor  and  I 
am  on  my  way  to  Eastborough  to  telegraph  to  Boston  for 
a  surgeon  and  a  nurse.  I  shall  not  return  to-night.  Go  up 
to  the  Deacon's  and  stay  with  her." 

As  he  said  this  the  mare  gave  a  bound  forward  and  she 
never  slackened  pace  until  Eastborough  Centre  was 
reached. 

Quincy  sent  his  telegram  and  returned  the  injured  buggy 
and  the  horse  to  the  stable  keeper,  telling  him  to  have  It 
repaired  and  he  would  pay  the  bill.  He  arranged  to  have 
a  driver  and  a  four-seated  team  ready  on  the  arrival  of  the 
train  bearing  the  doctor  and  the  nurse.  In  about  an  hour 
he  received  a  telegram  that  they  would  leave  on  the  6.05 
express  and  would  reach  Eastborough  Centre  at  7.15- 

They  arrived,  and  the  hired  driver,  doctor,  and  nurse 
started  for  Mason's  Corner. 

The  last  train  to  Boston  left  at  9.20.  Ten  minutes  before 
that  hour  the  team  returned  with  the  doctor. 

"She  is  all  right,"  he  said.  "Everything  has  been  done 
for  her,  and  the  other  doctor  will  write  me  when  my  services 
are  needed  again.  Good  night." 

The  train  dashed  in  and  the  doctor  sped  back  to  Boston, 

Quincy  had  engaged  a  room  at  the  hotel,  and  he  at  once 


84  QUINCY   ADAMS  SAWYER. 

retired  to  it,  but  not  to  sleep.  He  passed  the  most  uncom 
fortable  night  that  had  ever  come  to  him. 

The  next  afternoon  Hiram  told  MJandy  that  he  heard 
Professor  Strout  say  to  Robert  Wood  that  he  guessed  that 
"accident  would  never  have  occurred  if  that  city  chap 
hadn't  been  trying  to  drive  hoss  with  one  hand." 

Mandy  said,  "That  Strout  is  a  mean  old  thing,  anyway, 
and  if  you  tell  me  another  thing  that  he  says,  I'll  fill  your 
mouth  full  o'  soft  soap,  or  my  name  isn't  Mandy  Skinner." 


CHAPTER  XI. 

SOME   SAD   TIDINGS. 

THE  morning  of -the  accident,  when  Quincy  saw  Ezekiel 
Pettengill  standing  on  the  steps  of  Uncle  Ike's  house, 
Ezekiel  was  the  bearer  of  some  sad  tidings. 

He  recognized  Quincy  as  the  latter  started  to  come  up 
the  path,  and  saw  him  retrace  his  steps,  and  naturally 
thought,  as  most  men  would,  that  the  reason  Quincy  did 
not  come  in  was  because  he  did  not  wish  to  meet  him. 

"Who  was  you  looking  after?"  asked  Uncle  Ike,  as  Eze 
kiel  entered  the  room  and  closed  the  door. 

"I  think  it  was  Mr.  Sawyer,"  replied  Ezekiel,  "on  his 
way  to  Eastborough  Centre." 

"That  Mr.  Sawyer,"  said  Uncle  Ike,  "is  a  very  level 
headed  young  man.  He  called  on  me  once  and  I  like  him 
very  much.  Do  you  know  him,  'Zeke?" 

"Yes,  I  know  who  he  is,"  Ezekiel  answered,  "but  I  have 
never  been  introduced  to  him.  He  nods  and  I  nod,  or  I 
say,  'good  mornin','  -and  he  says,  'good  morninV  " 

"Don't  you  go  up  to  Deacon  Mason's  as  much  as  you 
used  to,  'Zeke?"  asked  Uncle  Ike.  "I  thought  Huldy  and 
you  were  going  to  make  a  match  of  it." 

Ezekiel  replied,  "Well,  to  be  honest,  Uncle  Ike,  Huldy 
and  me  had  a  little  tiff,  and  I  haven't  seen  her  to  speak  to 
her  for  more  than  three  weeks,  but  I  guess  it  will  all  come 
out  aH  right  some  day." 

"Well,  you're  on  the  right  track,  'Zeke,"  said  Uncle  Ike. 
"Do  all  your  fighting  before  you  get  married.  But  what 
brings  you  down  here  so  early  in  the  morning?" 


86  QUINCY  ADAMS  SAWYER. 

"I've  got  some  bad  news,"  replied  Ezekicl.  "Have  you 
heard  from  Alice  lately?" 

"No,"  said  Uncle  Ike,  "and  I  can't  understand  it  She 
has  always  written  to  me  once  a  fortnight,  and  it's  a  month 
now  since  I  heard  from  her,  and  she  has  sent  me  a  book 
every  Christmas  until  this  last  one." 

"She  has  been  very  sick,  Uncle  Ike,"  said  Ezekiel.  "She 
was  taken  down  about  the  middle  of  December  and  was 
under  the  doctor's  care  for  three  weeks." 

"Is  she  better?"  asked  Uncle  Ike  eagerly. 

"Yes,  she  is  up  'again,"  said  Ezekiel,  "but  she  is  very 
weak;  but  that  ain't  the  worst  of  it,"  he  added. 

"Why,  what's  the  matter?"  asked  Uncle  Ike.  "Why 
didn't  her  friends  let  us  know?" 

"She  wouldn't  let  them,"  said  Ezekiel.  "If  it  hadn't 
been  for  what  the  eye  doctor  told  her  she  wouldn't  have 
telegraphed  to  me  what  she  did." 

"Well,  what's  the  matter  with  her?"  cried  Uncle  Ike 
almost  fiercely. 

"Well,  Uncle  Ike,"  said  Ezekiel,  and  the  tears  stood  in 
his  eyes  as  he  said  it,  "our  Allie  is  almost  blind,  but  the 
eye  doctor  says  she  will  get  better,  but  it  will  take  a  very 
long  time.  She  has  had  to  give  up  her  job,  and  I  arn  going 
to  Boston  again  to-morrow  to  bring  her  home  to  the  old 
house." 

"What's  the  matter  with  her  eyes?"  asked  Uncle  Ike. 

"He  called  them  cataracts,"  said  Ezekiel,  "or  something' 
like  that." 

Uncle  Ike  sat  down  in  his  armchair  and  thought  for  a 
minute  or  two. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "I  know  what  they  are;  I  have  read  all 
about  them,  and  I  know  people  who  have  had  them.  One 
was  a  schoolmate  of  mine.  He  was  a  mighty  smart  fellow 
and  I  felt  sorry  for  him  and  used  to  help  him  out  in  his 


SOME  SAD  TIDINGS.  87 

studies.  I  heard  he  had  his  eyes  operated  on  and  recovered 
his  sight." 

"Well,  the  doctor  she  has,"  said  Ezekiel,  "is  agin  opera 
tions.  He  says  they  can  be  cured  without  them.  She 
drops  something  in  her  eyes  and  blows  something  in  them, 
and  then  the  tears  come,  and  then  she  sits  quietly  with  her 
hands  folded,  thinking,  I  suppose,  till  the  time  comes  to 
use  the  medicine  again.'' 

"What  can  I  do  to  help  you?"  asked  Uncle  Ike.  "You 
know  I  always  loved  Alice  even  better  than  I  did  my  own, 
children,  because  she  is  more  lovable,  I  suppose.  Now, 
'Zeke,  if  you  want  any  money  for  doctor's  bills  or  anything 
else,  I  am  ready  to  do  everything  in  the  world  I  can  for 
Alice.  Did  she  ask  after  me,  'Zeke?'' 

"Almost  the  first  thing  she  said  was,  'How  is  dear  old 
Uncle  Ike?'  and  then  she  said  how  glad  she  would  be  to  get 
back  to  Eastborough,  where  she  could  have  you  to  talk  to. 
'I  am  lonesome  now,'  she  said,  'I  cannot  write  nor  read,  and 
the  time  passes  so  slowly  with  no  one  to  talk  to.' " 

"But  the  poor  dear  girl  can't  walk  down  here  to  see  me," 
said  Uncle  Ike. 

"That's  just  what  I  came  to  see  you  aTxmt,"  said  Ezekiel. 
"The  greatest  favor  you  can  do  Alice  and  me  is  to  come  up 
to  the  old  house  and  live  with  us  for  a  while  and  be  com 
pany  for  Alice.  You  can  have  the  big  front  room  that 
father  and  mother  used  to  have,  and  Alice's  room,  you 
know,  is  just  side  of  that.  In  a  little  while  I  shall  have  to 
be  busy  on  the  farm  and  poor  Alice — " 

"Don't  talk  any  more  about  it.  'Zeke,"  said  Uncle  Ike. 
"Of  course  I'll  come.  She  will  do  me  as  much  good  as  I'll 
do  her.  Send  down  the  boys  with  the  team  to-morrow 
noon  and  I'll  be  all  settled  by  the  time  you  get  back." 

"I'll  do  it,"  said  Ezekiel.  "It  is  very  good  of  you.  Uncle 
Ike,  to  give  up  your  little  home  here  tbat  you  like  so  much 
and  come  to  live  with  us.  I  know  you  wouldn't  do  it  for 


88  QUINCY  ADAMS  SAWYER. 

anybody  but  Alice,  and  I'll  leave  her  to  thank  you  when 
she  gets  down  here." 

Uncle  Ike  and  Ezekiel  shook  hands  warmly. 

"Don't  you  need  any  money,  'Zeke?''  asked  Uncle  Ike. 

"No,"  replied  Ezekiel.  "Alice  wouldn't  let  me  pay  out 
a  cent;  she  had  some  money  saved  up  in  the  bank  and  she 
insisted  on  paying  for  everything  herself.  She  wouldn't 
come  home  till  I  promised  'her  I'd  let  her  pay  her  board 
when  she  got  able  to  work  again." 

"She  always  was  independent,"  said  Uncle  Ike,  "and  that 
was  one  reason  why  I  liked  her.  But  more  than  that,  she 
is  the  fairest-minded  and  best-tempered  woman  I  ever  met 
in  my  life,  and  I  have  seen  a  good  many." 

Ezekiel  shook  hands  again  with  Uncle  Ike,  and  then 
started  off  briskly  with  a  much  lighter  heart  than  he  had 
before  the  interview.  Reaching  home  he  astonished  Mandy 
Skinner  by  telling  her  that  he  was  going  to  bring  his  sister 
down  from  Boston  and  that  Uncle  Ike  was  coming  to  live 
with  them  for  a  while. 

"My  Lord!''  cried  Mandy,  "and  do  you  expect  me  to  do 
all  this  extra  work?" 

"I  don't  expect  nothing,"  said  Ezekiel.  "You  can  get 
old  Mrs.  Crowley  to  come  and  do  the  heavy  work,  and  I 
guess  you  can  get  along.  You  allus  said  you  liked  her,  she 
was  such  a  nice  washer  and  ironer.  She  can  have  the  little 
room  over  the  ell,  and  I'll  give  you  a  dollar  a  week  extra  for 
your  trouble.  Do  you  think  you  can  get  along,  Mandy?'' 

Mandy  answered,  "I  know  I  can  with  your  sister  all 
right,  but  if  your  Uncle  Ike  conies  out  here  in  the  kitchen 
and  tells  me  how  to  roast  meat  and  make  pies,  as  he  did 
once,  there  will  be  trouble,  and  he  may  have  to  do  all  the 
cooking-." 

Ezekiel  smiled,  but  said  nothing,  and  went  off  upstairs  to 
look  at  the  two  rooms  that  were  to  be  occupied  by  Uncle 
Ike  and  poor  Allie. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

LOOKING   FOR   A   BOARDING   PLACE. 

WHEN  Quincy  awoke  in  his  room  at  the  hotel  on  the 
morning1  after  the  accident  he  found  to  his  great 
surprise  that  it  was  nine  o'clock.  He  arose  and  dressed 
quickly,  and  after  a  light  breakfast  started  off  towards 
Uncle  Ike's.  Reaching  the  house  he  was  astonished  at  the 
sight  that  met  his  gaze.  Everything  was  out  of  place.  The 
bed  was  down  and  the  bedding  tied  up  in  bundles ;  the  books 
had  been  taken  froi"  *He  bookcase  and  had  been  piled  up  on 
the  table.  There  was  no  fire  in  the  stove,  and  the  funnel 
was  laid  upon  the  top  of  it.  Quincy  had  remembered  that 
he  had  seen  a  pile  of  soot  on  the  ground  near  the  steps  as  he 
came  up  them.  All  of  Uncle  Ike's  cooking  utensils  were 
packed  in  a  soap  box  which  stood  near  the  stove. 

"What's  the  matter,  Mr.  Pettengill,  are  you  going  to 
move?"  asked  Quincy. 

"For  a  time  at  least,"  replied  Uncle  Ike.  "  'Zeke  Petten- 
gill's  sister  has  been  struck  blind  and  he  is  going  to  bring 
her  down  home  this  afternoon  and  I  am  going  to  live  with 
them  and  be  company  for  her.  I  always  thought  as  much 
of  Alice  as  if  she  was  my  own  daughter,  and  now  she  is  in 
trouble,  her  old  uncle  isn't  going  back  on  her.  It  isn't  Ike 
Pettengill's  way." 

"Have  you  seen  'Zekiel  Pettengill  this  morning?"  asked 
Quincy. 

"No,  nor  I  didn't  expect  to,"  replied  Uncle  Ike.  "I  sup 
pose  he  went  to  Boston  ^n  the  nine  o'clock  train  and  will 
be  back  on  the  three  o'clock  express." 


go  QUIKCY   ADAMS    SAWYER. 

"Mr.  Pettengill,"  said  Quincy,  "can  you  give  me  fifteen 
minutes'  time  for  a  talk?" 

"Well,''  said  Uncle  Ike,  looking  at  his  watch,  "it  will  be 
half  an  hour  before  Cobb's  twins  will  be  down  here  with 
the  team,  and  I  might  as  well  listen  to  you  as  sit  around  and 
do  nothing.  They  are  coming  down  again  by  and  by  to 
,get  the  chickens.  I  have  a  good  mind  to  set  the  house  on 
fire  and  burn  it  up.  If  I  don't,  I  suppose  some  tramp  will, 
and  if  I  need  another  house  like  it,  thank  the  Lord  I've  got 
money  enough  to  build  it." 

"No,  don't  burn  it  up,  Mr.  Pettengill,"  said  Quincy. 
"Let  it  to  me.  I  am  around  looking  for  a  boarding  place 
myself." 

"Why,  what's  the  matter,  what  made  you  leave  Deacon 
Mason's  ?" 

"That's  what  I  want  to  tell  you/'  ="'-'  Quincy.  "Time  is 
limited  and  I'll  make  my  story  short,  but  you  are  a  friend 
of  my  father's,  and  I  want  you  to  understand  the  whole 
business." 

"Why,  what  have  you  been  up  to?"  asked  Uncle  Ike, 
opening  his  eyes. 

"Nothing,"  said  Quincy,  "and  that's  the  trouble.  When 
I  went  to  Deacon  Mason's  nobody  told  me  that  his  daugh 
ter  was  engaged  to  Ezekiel  Pettengill." 

"And  she  isn't,"  interjected  Uncle  Ike. 

"Well,"  said  Quincy,  "they  have  been  keeping  company 
together,  but  I  didn't  know  it.  Miss  Mason  is  a  pretty  girl 
and  a  very  pleasant  one.  Time  hung  heavily  on  my  hands 
and  I  naturally  paid  her  some  attentions;  gave  her  flowers 
and  candy,  and  took  her  out  to  ride,  but  I  never  thought  of 
falling  in  love  with  her,  and  I  am  not  conceited  enough  to 
think  she  is  in  love  with  me." 

"Well,  I  don't  know,"  said  Uncle  Ike  reflectively.  "Per- 
haps  she  has  'heard  your  father  w°s  worth  a  million  dollars." 

"No,  I  don't  believe  that,"  said  Quincy.    "Miss  Mason 


LOOKING  FOB  A  BOARDING    PLACE.  Oil 

is  too  true  and  honest  a  girl  to  marry  a  man  simply  for  his, 
money." 

"Well,  I  think  you  are  right  there,"  remarked  Uncle  Ike. 

"New  Year's  night,"  said  Quincy,  "at  the  'Concert  in  the 
Town  Hall,  Strout,  'the  singing  teacher,  got  down  on  me  be 
cause  Mass  Putnam  and  I  received  so  much  applause  for 
singing  a  duet  together.  Then  I  broke  his  heart  by  whis 
tling  a  tune  for  the  girls  and  boys,  and  then  again  he  doesn't 
like  me  because  I  am  from  the  city!  he  hired  a  fellow  to 
whip  me,  'but  the  fellow  didn't  know  how  to  box  and  I 
knocked  him  out  very  quickly.  Now  that  Strout  can't  hurt 
me  any  other  way  he  has  gone  to  work  making  up  lies,  and 
the  village  is  full  of  gossip  about  Miss  Mason  and  me. 
Deacon  Mason  was  going  to  talk  to  me  about  it,  but  I  told 
him  yesterday  morning  that  I  was  going  to  get  another 
boarding  place,  and  I  should  have  done  so  yesterday  but 
for  .a  very  unfortunate  accident." 

"Accident?"  said  Uncle  Ike;  "why,  you  seem  to  be  al! 
right." 

"I  wish  I  had  been  the  victim,''  said  Quincy,  "instead  of 
Miss  'Mason.  I  took  her  out  riding  yesterday  and  the 
buggy  got  tipped  over  right  in  front  of  Deacon  Mason's 
house,  a,nd  Miss  Mason  had  her  left  arm  broken  above  the 
elbow.  I  have  done  all  I  could  to  atone  for  my  careless 
ness,  but  I  am  afraid  'Zeke  Pettengill  will  never  forgive  me. 
I  wish,  Air.  Pettengill,  you  would  make  him  understand  my 
position  in  the  matter.  I  would  like  to  be  good  friends  with 
him,  for  I  have  nothing  against  him.  He  is  the  most  gen-: 
tlemanly  young  man  that  I  have  seen  in  the  town.  I  value 
his  good  opinion  and  I  want  him  to  understand  that  I 
haven't  intentionally  done  anything  to  wrong  or  injure 
him." 

Uncle  Ike  covered  his  eyes  with  his  hands  and  mused  for 
a  few  minutes;  then  he  finally  said,  "Mr.  Sawyer,  I  have 
got  an  idea.  That  fellow,  Strout,  thinks  he  runs  this 


B2  QUINCY   ADAMS    SAWYEK. 

and  it  would  tickle  him  to  death  if  he  thought  he  made 
things  uncomfortable  for  you.  Then,  again,  I  happen  to 
know  that  he  is  sweet  on  Huldy  Mason  himself,  and  he 
would  do  all  he  could  to  widen  Ahe  breach  between  'Zeke 
and  her.  You  see  he  isn't  but  forty  himself,  and  he 
wouldn't  mind  the  difference  in  ages  at  all.  Now,  my  plan 
is  this.''  Uncle  Ike  looked  out  the  window  'and  said,  "Here 
comes  Cobb's  twins  with  the  team.  Now  we  will  take  my 
things  up  to  the  house,  then  you  take  the  team  and  go  up 
to  Deacon  Mason's  and  get  your  trunk  and  bring  it  down 
to  PettenguTs  house.  You  will  be  my  guest  for  to-night, 
anyway,  and  if  I  don't  make  things  right  with  'Zeke  so  you 
can  stay  there,  I'll  fix  it  anyway  so  you  can  stay  till  you  get 
a  place  to  suit  you.  Now  don't  say  no,  "Mr .Sawyer.  Your 
father  and  I  are  old  friends  and  he  will  sort  o'  hold  me 
responsible  for  your  good  treatment.  I  won't  take  no  for 
an  answer.  If  you  have  no  objections,  Mr.  Sawyer,  I  wish 
you  would  keep  your  eye  on  those  books  when  they  are 
put  into  the  team,  for  those  Cobb  boys  handle  everything 
as  though  it  was  a  rock  or  a  tree  stump."  And  Uncle  Ike, 
taking  his  kerosene  lamp  in  one  hand  and  his  looking 
glass  in  the  other,  cried,  "Come  in,"  as  one  of  the  Cobb 
boys  knocked  on  the  door. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

A  VISIT  TO   THE   VICTIM. 

IT  was  not  until  Quincy  had  reached  the  Pettengill  house 
and  helped  Uncle  Ike  get  his  things  in  order,  that  he 
finally  decided  to  accept  Uncle  Ike's  offer.  If  he  went  to 
East  bo  rough  Centre  to  live  at  the  hotel,  he  knew  Strout 
would  consider  he  had  won  a  victory.  He  had  thought  of 
going  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Putnam  about  a  room  and  board, 
but  then  he  remembered  Lindy,  and  said  to  himself  that 
Miss  Putnam  was  a  pretty  girl  and  it  would  be  the  same  old 
story  over  again.  Then  he  thought,  "There  won't  be  any 
danger  here  with  a  blind  girl  and  Mandy  Skinner,  and  if 
Uncle  Ike  can  arrange  matters  it  will  be  the  best  thing  I 
can  do." 

And  so  he  drove  up  to  Deacon  Mason's  with  Cobb's 
twins,  saw  Mrs.  Mason,  went  upstairs  and  packed  his  trunk 
quickly,  and  the  Cobb  boys  drove  away  with  it  to  his  new, 
though  perhaps  only  temporary,  lodgings. 

When  Quincy  went  downstairs,  Mrs.  Mason  was  in  the 
parlor,  and  she  beckoned  to  him  to  come  in.  He  entered 
and  closed  the  door. 

"I  want  to  speak  to  you  a  few  minutes,"  said  she,  "and  I 
want  to  tell  you  first  I  don't  blame  you  a  bit.  I  know  you 
told  'Zeke  Pettengill  that  the  tip-over  was  all  your  careless 
ness,  but  Huldy  says  it  ain't  so.  She  said  she  was  driving, 
though  you  didn't  want  her  to,  and  the  accident  was  all  her 
fault.  Now,  I  believe  my  daughter  tells  the  truth,  and  the 
Deacon  thinks  'so  too." 

"Well,  Mrs.  Mason/'  said  Quincy,  "what  your  daughter 


94  QUINCY  ADAMS    SAWYER. 

says  is  partly  true,  but  I  am  still  to  blame  for  allowing  her 
to  drive  a  horse  with  which  she  was  not  acquainted." 

"That  warn't  the  trouble,  Mr.  Sawyer,"  said  Mrs.  Mason. 
"Huldy  told  me  the  whole  truth.  You  said  something  to 
her  about  going  away.  She  had  heard  what  the  village 
gossips  were  saying.  Huldy's  got  &  high  temper  and  she 
was  so  mad  that  she  got  flustrated,  and  that's  what  caused 
all  the  trouble.  I  like  you,  Mr.  Sawyer,  and  Huldy  likes 
you.  She  says  you  .have  allus  'been  a  perfect  gentleman, 
and  the  Deacon  now  is  awful  sorry  you  are  going,  but  I 
hope  you  will  come  and  see  us  often  while  you  stay  at 
Mason's  Corner." 

"I  certainly  shall,  Mrs.  Mason,"  replied  Quincy.  "How 
is  Miss  Mason?" 

"Oh,  she  is  fust  rate,"  said  the  Deacon's  wife.  "That 
doctor  from  the  city  fixed  her  arm  all  up  in  what  he  called 
a  jacket,  and  that  nurse  that  you  sent  just  seems  to  know 
what  Huldy  wants  before  she  can  ask  for  it.  I  hear  them 
nurses  are  av/ful  expensive,  and  I  don't  think  she  better 
stay  but  a  day  or  -two  longer." 

"She  can't  leave  till  the  surgeon  comes  from  Boston  and 
says  she  can  go,"  he  remarked,  thinking  this  was  the  easiest 
way  to  get  out  of  it.  "May  I  see  Miss  Mason?"  he  added. 

"Certainly/'  replied  Mrs.  Mason.  "She  is  in  the  front 
chamber.  We  moved  her  in  there  'cause  there  is  a  fireplace 
in  the  room  and  the  nurse  objected  to  the  wood  stove  that 
Huldy  had  in  her  room.  She  said  it  was  either  too  hot  or 
too  cold,  and  that  Huldy  must  have  an  even  temperature." 

As  Quincy  entered  the  room  Huldy  looked  up  and  a 
faint  smile  lighted  her  face.  Her  usually  rosy  cheeks 
showed  only  a  faint  touch  of  pink.  'The  helpless  left  arm, 
in  its  plaster  of  paris  jacket,  rested  on  the  outside  of  the 
white  quilt,  the  fingers  on  her  little  hand  projecting  beyond 
the  coverine. 

Quincy  advanced  to  the  bedside  and  took  a  vacant  chair. 


A  VISIT  TO  THE  VICTIM.  95 

The  nurse  was  sitting  by  the  window.  She  glanced  up  at 
him  and  at  Mrs.  Mason,  who  followed  close  behind  him, 
but  continued  the  reading  of  her  book. 

Quincy  said  lightly,  as  he  reached  over  and  took  the 
right  hand  and  gave  it  a  little  shake,  "You're  not  shaking 
hands  with  the  left,  Miss  Mason." 

"Nb,"  said  Huldy,  "I  wish  I  could  shake  it,  but  nurse 
says  it  will  have  to  stay  on  for  .two  or  three  weeks,  and  it  is 
so  heavy,  Mr.  Sawyer." 

'Mrs.  Mason  went  to  the  nurse  and  whispered  to  her, 
"Don't  let  him  stay  too  long."  The  nurse  nodded  and  Mrs. 
Mason  left  the  room. 

Quincy  said  in  a  low  tone,  as  he  sat  in  the  chair  by  the 
bedside,  "Miss  Mason,  I  can't  express  my  sorrow  for  this 
unfortunate  occurrence.  Your  mother  says  you  have  told 
her  it  was  your  fault.  But  I  insisted  it  was  my  fault  in 
allowing  you  to  drive  a  strange  horse." 

Huldy  smiled.  "It  wasn't  the  horse,  Mr.  Sawyer,"  she 
said,  and  quickly  changing  the  subject  asked,  "Where  are 
you  going  to  board  now?" 

"Old  Uncle  Ike  Pettengill  has  taken  pity  on  me/'  replied 
Quincy,  thinking  he  would  not  say  anything  about  going 
to  Ezekiel  Pettengill's  house. 

"But,"  said  Huldy,  "  Zekiel  called  here  this  morning 
before  he  went  to  Boston  for  his  sister  and  told  me  that 
Uncle  Ike  was  coming  to  live  with  him.  Didn't  I  hear 
them  take  your  trunk  away  a  little  while  ago?" 

Quincy  saw  it  was  useless  to  prevaricate,  so  he  said,  "My 
trunk  was  taken  to  Mr.  Ezekiel  Pettengill's  house." 

"I  hope  you  and  'Zekiel  will  be  good  friends,"  said 
Huldy,  with  a  grave  look  on  her  face. 

"I  trust  we  may  become  so."  remarked  Quincy.  "I  am 
afraid  we  are  not  now,  and  I  am  still  more  afraid  it  is  my 
fault  that  we  are  not  on  the  best  of  terms." 

Huldy  turned  her  face  towards  him,  a  red  flush  coloring 


96  QUINCY  ADAMS  SAWYER. 

her  cheeks  and  brow.  "No,"  she  said,  with  vehemence, 
"it  was  my  fault,  and  you  know  it,  Mr.  Sawyer.  How  you 
must  hate  me  for  having-  caused  you  so  much  trouble." 
She  gave  a  convulsive  sob  and  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears. 

Quincy  was  on  the  point  of  assuring  Huldy  that  he  could 
never  hate  her  and  that  they  would  always  be  good 
friends,  but  he  had  no  opportunity  to  frame  the  words. 

As  Huldy  sobbed  and  began  to  cry,  the  nurse  jumped  to 
her  feet,  dropped  -her  book  on  the  floor,  and  came  quickly 
to  the  bedside.  She  said  nothing,  but  the  look  upon  her 
face  convinced  Quincy  that  he  must  wait  for  a  more  aus 
picious  moment  to  declare  his  friendly  sentiment.  So 
with  a  "Good-by,  Miss  Mason,  I'll  call  again  soon,"  he 
quitted  the  apartment  and  left  the  victim  to  the  ministra 
tions  of  the  nurse. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

A   QUIET  EVENING. 

FTER  the  somewhat  exciting-  termination  of  his  inter 
view  with  Miss  Mason,  Quincy  left  the  house  quickly 
and  walked  down  to  Ezekiel  Pettengill's.  Uncle  Ike  was 
there  and  he  told  Mandy  to  show  Mr.  Sawyer  to  his  room, 
which  proved  to  be  the  big-  front  one  upstairs. 

When  he  was  alone,  Quincy  sank  into  the  capacious 
rocking  chair  and  fell  to  thinking.  His  mind  went  back  to 
his  parting  with  Miss  Mason.  She  had  said  that  it  wasn't 
the  horse,  so  it  must  have  been  what  he  said  to  her.  Was 
she  angry  because  he  had  decided  to  go  in  order  to  stop 
village  gossip,  or  had  she  really  cared  for  him?  Well,  it 
was  over  now.  He  would  never  know  what  her  real  feel 
ings  were,  and  after  all  it  was  best  for  him  not  to  know. 
He  would  drop  the  whole  matter  where  it  was.  Then  he 
began  to  think  about  his  present  position.  Here  he  was 
located  in  the  house  of  the  man  who  would  naturally  be 
considered  the  last  one  to  desire  his  company. 

Uncle  Ike  had  told  him  that  he  would  make  it  all  right. 
If  he  failed  in  this  and  Ezekiel  objected  to  his  remaining 
he  could  move  again.  He  was  determined  not  to  leave 
'Mason's  Corner  till  he  got  ready,  and  he  felt  sure  he  would 
not  be  ready  to  go  until  he  had  squared  accounts  with 
Strout. 

Presently  he  heard  the  sound  of  wheels.  The  Pettengill 
house  faced  the  south  and  Eastborough  Centre  lay  west  of 
Mason's  Corner,  so  he  could  not  see  the  team  when  it 


98  QUINCY  ADAMS    SA\YYEIi. 

arrived,  as  it  drove  up  to  the  back  door,  but  he  knew  that 
Ezekiel  had  arrived  with  his  sister.  Uncle  Ike  and  Cobb's 
twins  went  down  stairs  quickly;  there  was  a  jumble  of 
voices,  and  then  the  party  entered  the  house.  A  short  time 
after  he  heard  persons  moving  in  the  room  adjoining  his, 
and  guessed  that  Ezekiel's  sister  was  to  occupy  it. 

Then  he  fell  to  imagining  the  conversation  that  was 
doubtless  going  on  between  Uncle  Ike  and  his  nephew. 
Quincy  was  not  naturally  nervous,  but  he  did  not  like  sus 
pense;  almost  unconsciously  he  arose  and  walked  back  and 
forth  across  the  room  several  times.  Then  it  occurred  to 
him  that  probably  the  uncle  and  nephew  were  having  their 
conversation  in  the  parlor,  which  was  right  under  him,  and 
he  curbed  his  impatience  and  threw  himself  into  the  arm 
chair,  which  stood  near  the  open  fireplace. 

As  he  did  so  there  came  a  sharp  rap  at  the  door.  In 
response  to  the  quick  uttered  "Come  in,"  the  door  opened 
and  Uncle  Ike  entered.  He  came  forward,  took  a  seat  in 
the  rocking  chair  near  Quincy  and  passed  him  two  letters. 

Quincy  looked  up1  inquiringly.  He  had  had  his  mail 
sent  to  Eastborough  Centre,  where  he  had  hired  a  box. 
At  the  Mason's  Corner  post  office  the  letters  were  stuck 
upon  a  rack,  where  every  one  could  see  them,  and  Quincy 
did  not  care  to  have  the  loungers  at  Hill's  grocery  inspect 
ing  his  correspondence. 

Uncle  Ike  saw  the  look  and  understood  it.  Then  he 
said,  "  'Zekiel  brought  these  over  from  Eastborough  Cen 
tre.  He  didn't  want  to,  but  the  postmaster  said  one  of 
them  was  marked  'In  haste,'  and  he  had  been  over  to  the 
hotel  and  found  that  you  had  gone  to  Mason's  Corner,  and 
probably  wouldn't  be  back  to-day,  and  so  he  thought 
'Zekiel  better  bring  it  over." 

"It  was  very  kind  of  Mr.  Pettengill,''  said  Quincy,  "and 
I  wish  you  would  thank  him  for  me." 

In  the  meantime  he  had  glanced  at  his  letters.     One 


A   QUIET   EVENING.  98 

bore,  printed  in  the  corner,  the  names,  Sawyer,  Crownin- 
shield,  &  Lawrence,  Counsellors  at  Law,  Court  Street,  Bos 
ton,  Mass.  That  was  from  his  father.  The  other  was 
directed  in  a  feminine  .hand  and  bore  the  postmark,  Mason's 
Corner,  Mass.  He  could  not  imagine  from  whom  it  could 
be. 

"I  have  had  a  talk  with  'Zekiel,"  said  Uncle  Ike,  "and 
the  whole  matter  is  satisfactorily  arranged;  'he  is  a  fair- 
minded  young  fellow  and  he  don't  believe  you  have  done 
anything  with  the  intention  of  injuring  him.  What  did 
you  pay  up  to  Deacon  Mason's?" 

"Five  dollars  a  week,"  replied  Quincy. 

"Well,  it  will  be  the  same  here,"  said  Uncle  Ike.  "You 
can  stay  as  long  as  you  like.  'Zeke  wouldn't  charge  you 
anything,  but  I  said  no,  you  have  got  to  look  out  for  your 
sister,  and  Mr.  Sawyer  can  afford  to  pay." 

Quincy  broke  in,  "And  I  wouldn't  stay  unless  I  did  pay. 
I  am  able  and  willing  to  pay  more,  if  he  will  take  it." 

"Not  a  cent  more,"  .said  Uncle  Ike.  "He  will  give  you 
your  money's  worth,  and  then  one  won't  owe  the  other 
anything.  When  you  come  down  to  supper  I'll  introduce 
you,  just  as  if  you  had  never  seen  each  other,  and  you  can 
both  take  a  fresh  start." 

Uncle  Ike  arose.  "By  the  time  you  have  read  your  let 
ters  supper  will  be  ready,  and  I  want  to  go  in  and  have  a 
talk  with  Alice.  She  is  my  only  niece,  Mr.  Sawyer,  and  I 
think  she  is  the  finest  girl  in  Massachusetts,  and,  as  far 
as  I  know,  there  ain't  any  better  one  in  'the  whole  world;" 
and  Uncle  Ike  went  out,  closing  the  door  behind  him. 

Quincy  resumed  his  seat  by  the  window.  The  light  had 
faded  considerably,  but  he  could  still  see  to  read.  Nat 
urally  enough  he  first  opened  the  letter  bearing  the  femi 
nine  handwriting.  He  looked  at  the  signature  first  of  all 
and  read  "Lucinda  Putnam."  "What  can  she  (have  to  write 
to  me  about?"  he  thought.  He  read  the  letter: 


100  QUINCY  ADAMS    SAWYER. 

Mason's  Corner,  January  22,  186— 

My  dear  Mr.  Sawyer: — I  regret  very  much  that  I  was 
absent  when  you  called,  but  am  glad  to  learn  from  mother 
that  you  had  a  pleasant  visit.  Although  you  are  from  the 
city  I  am  sure  you  would  blush  if  you  could  hear  the  nice 
things  mother  said  about  you.  I  am  conceited  enough  to 
think  that  you  will  find  time  to  call  on  us  again  soon,  for 
I  wish  to  consult  you  regarding  an  important  business 
matter.  I  am  going  to  Boston  next  Monday  in  relation  to 
this  business  and  if  you  could  make  it  convenient  to  call 
before  then  it  would  be  greatly  appreciated  by 

Yours  very  truly, 

LUCINDA  PUTNAM. 

Quincy  reflected.  "What  is  she  up  to?  Some  legal  bus 
iness,  I  suppose.  Well,  I  am  not  practising  law  now;  I 
shall  have  to  refer  her  to — " 

He  took  up  the  other  letter  and  read,  "Sawyer,  Crownin« 
shield,  &  Lawrence." 

His  father's  letter  read  as  follows: 

Boston,  January  21,  186 — 

My  dear  Son: — Yours  at  hand,  and  inquiries  carefully 
noted.  I  had  a  brother,  James  Edward  Sawyer;  he  was 
five  years  older  than  I  and  must  be  about  sixty.  Father 
wished  him  to  study  law,  but  he  wouldn't  study  anything. 
When  father  died  he  got  .his  share  of  the  money,  about 
$50,000,  but  he  squandered  the  most  of  it  in  high  living. 
The  next  we  'heard  of  him  he  had  married  a  country  girl 
named  Eunice  Raymond,  I  think.  He  brought  her  to 
Boston  and  tried  to  introduce  her  into  the  society  he  had 
been  brought  up  in.  She  was  a  nice,  pretty  woman,  but 
uneducated,  and  naturally  bashful,  and  James  finally  left 
the  city  and  went  to  live  somewhere  in  the  country,  I  never 


A  QUIET  EVENING.  101 

knew  where!  he  never  wrote  me  after  leaving  Boston.  This 
Jim  Sawyer  may  'be  your  uncle.  I  hope  not,  but  if  he  is, 
remember  he  is  my  brother,  and  if  he  needs  any  assistance 
let  me  know  at  once.  I  hope  your  health  is  improving. 
Your  mother  and  sisters  are  well  and  send  love,  as  does  also 

Your  affectionate  father, 

NATHANIEL  ADAMS  SAWYER. 

As  Quincy  finished  his  second  letter  there  was  another 
rap  at  the  door  and  Mandy's  voice  was  heard  outside 
saying,  "Supper's  ready,  Mr.  Saw — yer." 

Quincy  jumped  to  his  feet.  He  had  not  unlocked  his 
trunk,  as  he  was  not  certain  that  it  would  be  worth  while 
to  do  so.  It  was  but  the  work  of  a  few  moments  to  make 
the  necessary  changes  in  his  toilet.  He  put  on  a  black 
Prince  Albert  coat  in  place  of  a  sack  coat  that  he  usually 
wore,  but  before  he  had  completed  this  change  'there  came 
another  tap  on  the  door,  and  Mandy's  voice  was  hear3 
saying,  "The  things  will  get  cold  if  you  don't  come  down 
right  away." 

As  Quincy  entered  the  large  room  which  was  used  for  a 
dining-room,  he  was  met  by  Uncle  Ike.  Ezekiel  was  stand 
ing  a  short  distance  from  'his  uncle.  Uncle  Ike  said, 
"  'Zekiel,  this  is  my  friend,  Mr.  Sawyer.  Mr.  Sawyer,  this 
is  my  nephew,  'Zekiel  Pettengill.  I  am  good  friends  with 
both  of  you,  and  I  hope  you  will  be  good  friends  to  each 
other." 

The  two  men  shook  hands.  If  each  had  any  idea  of  what 
the  other  was  thinking  about  he  did  not  betray  it  by  look 
or  act. 

Uncle  Ike  continued,  "Mr.  Sawyer,  this  is  Jim  Cobb  and 
this  is  Bill  Cobb,  and  this,"  as  Miandy  entered  bearing 
something  for  the  table,  "is  Miss  M'andy  Skinner.  Now 
that  we  are  all  acquainted,  I  think  we  had  all  better  intro- 


102  QUINCY   ADAMS   SAWYER. 

duce  ourselves  at  once  to  the  supper.  I  haven't  done  such 
a  hard  day's  work  for  sixteen  years." 

Ezekiel  insisted  upon  Uncle  Ike  taking  the  head  of  the 
table.  He  motioned  Mr.  Sawyer  to  take  the  second  seat 
from  .his  uncle  on  the  right,  while  he  took  the  first  seat  on 
the  left,  with  Cobb's  twins  next  to  him. 

Quincy  immediately  surmised  that  when  the  sister' 
appeared  at  the  table  she  would  probably  sit  between  him 
and  Uncle  Ike. 

The  meal  was  not  a  very  lively  one  as  far  as  conversa 
tion  went.  Quincy  inquired  politely  concerning  Miss  Pet- 
tengill's  health,  and  Uncle  Ike  said  she  was  tired  after  her 
trip,  and  Mandy  was  going  to  take  her  supper  up  to  her. 

The  meal  was  plentiful  and  well  cooked.  Quincy  thought 
to  himself,  how  much  brighter  it  would  have  looked,  and 
how  much  better  the  food  would  have  tasted  if  Miss  Huldy 
Mason  had  been  present  with  her  pretty  face,  joyous  laugh, 
and  occasional  bright  sayings. 

After  supper  the  things  were  quickly  taken  out  by 
Mandy.  The  white  tablecloth  was  removed,  and  one  in 
which  the  prevailing  color  was  bright  red  took  its  place. 

The  three  men  'drew  up  to  the  open  fireplace.  Uncle 
Ike  pulled  out  his  pipe  and  said,  "Do  you  allow  smoking 
here,  'Zeke?" 

'Zekiel  replied,  "I  wish  you  and  Mr.  Sawyer  to  make 
yourselves  perfectly  at  home  and  do  just  as  you  would  if 
you  were  in  your  own  house." 

"Well,  if  I  did  that,"  said  Uncle  Ike,  "you  wouldn't  need 
Mandy,  for  I  should  be  chief  cook  and  bottle  washer 
myself." 

Uncle  Ike  lighted  his  pipe,  and  Ezekiel  took  a  cigar  from 
his  pocket,  saying,  "I  guess  I'll  smoke,  too."  Then  his  face 
reddened.  He  said,  "Beg  pardon,  Mr.  Sawyer,  I  have  only 
this  one." 

"That's  all  right,"  rejoined  Quincy,  "a  cigar  would  be 


A  QUIET  EVENING.  103 

too  Heavy  for  me  tonight.  I  have  a  slight  headache,  and 
if  you  will  excuse  me  I  will  roll  a  cigarette." 

He  took  his  little  case  of  rice  paper  from  his  pocket  and 
also  a  small  pouch  of  tobacco,  and  deftly  made  and  lighted 
a  cigarette.  Tihe  three  men  sat  smoking,  and  as  Quincy 
blew  a  ring  into  the  air  he  wondered  what  Sir  Walter 
Raleigh  would  have  said  if  he  could  have  looked  in  upon 
them. 

Quincy  broke  the  silence.  "I  am  afraid,  Uncle  Ike,  tha.t 
I  have  caused  you  much  inconvenience  'by  driving  you  out 
of  that  pleasant  front  room  where  I  found  my  trunk." 

''Not  a  bit,"  replied  Uncle  Ike.  "I  hate  carpets,  and  I 
prefer  to  sleep  .in  my  own  bed,  and  what's  more,  I  wanted 
to  put  up  my  stove,  and  there  was  no  chance  in  that  front 
room.  When  real  cold  weather  comes  I  always  have  a  ton 
of  coal  for  my  stove,  so  I  am  much  better  off  where  I  am 
than  I  would  be  downstairs.  By  the  way,  'Zeke,  iust  *efl 
me  all  about  Alice  again.  You  won't  mind  Mr.  Sawyer;  he 
is  one  of  the  family  now." 

"Well,"  said  Ezekiel,  "Alice  was  taken  sick  al>out  the 
middle  of  December.  The  folks  where  she  boarded  sent 
for  a  doctor.  It  was  about  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning 
wrhen  she  was  taken,  and  it  was  noon  before  she  go*,  easy, 
so  they  could  get  her  to  bed.  She  thought  she  w^s  get 
ting  better;  then,  she  had  another  attack;  then  she  thought 
she  was  'getting  better  again,  and  tihe  third  attack  was  th*5 
worst  of  the  .three.  The  folks  wanted  to  write  to  me,  but  she. 
wouldn't  let  them.  When  she  really  did  begin  to  get  bitter, 
she  found  out  there  was  something  that  was  worse  than 
being  sick.  She  found  she  couldn't  see  to  read  either  print 
or  writing,  but  Alice  is  a  spunky  girl,  and  she  wouldn't 
give  in,  even  then.  A  friend  told  her  to  go  and  see  Dr. 
Moses,  who  was  an  eye  doctor,  and  put  herself  right  under 
his  treatment.  She  thought  she  was  going  to  get  well  right 
off  at  first,  'but  when  she  found  it  was  likely  to  be  a  long 


104  QUINCY  ADAMS  SAWYER. 

job,  then  she  gave  in  and  wrote  to  me.  She  has  brought 
her  treatment  down  with  her,  and  the  doctor  says  she  will 
have  to  go  to  Boston  once  a  month  to  see  .him.  as  he  is  too 
busy  to  come  down  here." 

At  this  point  in  the  proceedings  the  door  opened  and 
Mandy  entered,  bringing  a  large  dish  of  big  red  apples  and 
another  full  of  cracked  shellbarks.  She  left  the  room  and 
returned  almost  immediately  with  a  large  dish  full  of  pop 
corn. 

"Have  an  apple?"  said  Ezekiel.  "Help  yourselves;  we 
don't  pass  anything  round  here.  We  put  the  things  on  the 
table  and  each  one  helps  himself." 

Jvlandy  came  in  again,  bringing  a  large  pitcher  of  cider 
and  some  glasses,  which  she  placed  upon  the  table. 

While  the  three  men  were  discussing  their  country  even 
ing  lunch  in  silence,  an  animated  conversation  was  taking 
place  in  the  kitchen,  the  participants  being  Mandy,  Mrs. 
Bridget  Crowley,  and  Hiram,  who  always  dropped  in  dur 
ing  the  evening  to  get  his  glass  of  cider,  a  luxury  that  was 
not  dispensed  at  Deacon  Mason's. 

"Well,''  said  Mandy,  "I  think  it's  wasteful  extravagance 
for  you  Irish  folks  to  spend  so  much  money  on  carriages 
when  one  of  your  friends  happens  to  die.  As  you  just  said, 
when  you  lived  in  Boston  you  own  up  you  spent  fourteen 
dollars  in  one  month  going  to  funerals,  and  you  paid  a 
dollar  a  seat  each  time." 

"I  did  that,"  said  Mrs.  Crowley,  "and  I  earned  every  bit 
of  it  doing  washing,  for  Pat,  bless  his  sowl,  was  out  of 
work  at  the  time.'' 

"Just  think  of  that!"  said  Mandy,  turning  to  Hiram. 

"Well,  it  can't  be  helped,"  said  Mrs.  Crowley,  obstinately. 
"Shure  and  if  I  don't  go  to  folks'  funerals  they  won't  come 
to  mine." 

This  was  too  much  for  Mandy  and  Hiram,  and  they 
began  laughing,  which  so  incensed  Mrs.  Crowley  that  she 


««MANDY    SKINNER,"     AS    ShV    APPEARS    IN    THE    PLAY. 


A   QUIET   EVENING.  105 

trudged  off  to  'her  little  room  in  the  ell,  which  departure 
just  suited  Mandy  and  Hiram. 

"Have  you  got  any  soft  soap  here  in  the  kitchen?"  asked 
Hiram. 

"No,"  said  Mandy,  "I  used  the  last  this  afternoon.  I  shall 
•have  to  go  out  in  the  shed  to-morrow  morning  and  get 
some.'' 

"You  wouldn't  be  likely  to  go  out  to-night  for  any?" 
asked  Hiram. 

"I  guess  not,"  said  Mandy.  "Why,  there  is  rats  out  in 
that  shed  as  big  as  kittens.  Did  you  want  to  use  some?" 

"Nio,"  said  Hiram,  "but  I  didn't  want  you  to  have  any 
'round  handy,  for  I  am  bound  to  tell  you  1  heard  Strout 
telling  the  minister's  son  that  Lindy  Putnam  writ  a  letter 
to  Mr.  Sawyer  and  mailed  it  at  Mason's  Corner  post  office 
this  mornin',  and  it  was  directed  to  Ea&tborough  Centre, 
and  Strout  said  it  looked  as  though  they  were  keeping  up 
correspondence.  I  tell  you  that  made  'Manuel  Howe  mad, 
for  .he's  gone  on  Lindy  Putnam  himself,  and  then  Strout 
said  that  probably  all  the  fellers  in  town  would  have  to 
put  off  getting  married  until  that  city  chap  had  decided 
which  one  of  the  girls  he  wanted  himself.  And  now,  hang 
it,"  said  Hiram,  "he  has  come  to  live  in  this  house,  and  I 
sha'n't  I  tave  any  peace  of  mind." 

Hiram  dodged  the  first  apple  Mandy  threw  at  his  head, 
but  the  second  one  hit  him  squarely,  and  he  gave  a  loud 
"Oh!" 

"Stop  your  noise,"  said  Mandy,  "or  Mr.  Pettengill  will 
be  out  here.  "I'll  ask  them  if  they  want  anything  else,"  as 
she  rapped  on  the  door.  There  was  no  response  and  she 
opened  it  and  looked  in.  "Why,  they  have  all  gone  to  bed," 
she  said.  At  that  moment  the  old  •clock  an  the  kitchen 
struck  nine.  "It's  nine  o'clock  and  you  had  better  be  going 
ncme,  Hiram  Maxwell." 

"I  shall  have  to  get  some  anarchy  to  put  on  my  fore- 


106  QUINCY   ADAMS  SAWYER. 

head,"  said  Hiram.  "See  that  big  bump,  Mandy,  that  yoa 
made.'' 

Mandy  approached  him  quite  closely  and  looked  at  his 
forehead;  as  she  did  so  she  turned  up  her  nose  and  puck 
ered  her  mouth.  Her  arms  were  hanging  by  her  side. 
Hiram  grasped  her  around  the  waist,  holding  -both  of  her 
arms  tight,  and  before  Mandy  could  break  away  he  gave 
her  a  kiss  full  on  the  mouth. 

He  made  a  quick  rush  for  the  door,  opened  it  and  dashed 
out  into  the  night.  Luckily  for  him  there  was  no  moon 
and  the  was  out  of  sight  before  Mandy  could  recover  her 
self-possession  and  reach  the  door.  She  peered  out  into 
the  darkness  for  a  moment;  them  she  closed  the  door  and 
bolted  it,  took  a  lamp  and  went  up  to  her  own  room. 
Standing  in  front  of  her  looking  glass,  she  turned  up  her 
nose  and  puckered  up  her  mouth  as  she  had  done  when 
facing  Hiram. 

"Tthat's  the  first  time  Hiram  Maxwell  ever  kissed  me," 
she  said  to  'herself.  "Mebbe  it  will  be  the  last  time  and 
mebbe  it  won't."  Then  she  said  reflectively,  "I  didn't 
think  the  little  fellow  had  so  much  spunk  in  him." 

In  a  quarter  of  an  hour  she  was  dreaming  of  cupids,  and 
hearts,  and  arrows,  and  St.  Valentine's  Day,  which  was  not 
so  very  far  away. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

A   LONG   LOST  RELATIVE. 

EZEKIEL  PETTENGILL  owned  wthat  Deacon  Mason 
did  not — a  nice  carryall  and  a  good  road  horse. 
Ezekiel  would  fix  no  price,  but  Quincy  would  not  drive 
him  unless  'he  paid  for  the  use  of  the  team.  One  dollar  for 
half  a  day,  two  dollars  for  a  whole  day,  were  the  prices 
finally  fixed  upon. 

Quincy  drove  first  to  Mrs.  Putnam's.  As  he  was  ascend 
ing  the  steps  the  front  door  was  opened  and  Lindy  stood 
there  to  welcome  him,  which  she  did  by  extending  her 
hand  and  then  showing  him  into  the  parlor.  She  was  evi 
dently  on'the  point  of  going  out,  for  she  had  on  her  outdoor 
garments.  After  a  few  commonplaces  relating  to  health 
and  the  weather,  Quincy.  abruptly  approached  the  object 
of  his  visit  by  saying,  "I  received  your  letter,  Miss  Putnam, 
and  I  have  come  to  see  if  I  can  be  of  any  service  to  you." 

"Oh!  I  know  you  can,"  said  Lindy;  "you  are  wealthy — " 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  interposed  Quincy,  "I  am  not  what 
they  call  a  wealthy  young  man;  the  fact  that  my  father  is 
possessed  of  a  large  fortune  has  probably  given  rise  to 
the  incorrect  impression  just  repeated  by  you." 

"I  understand,"  said  Lindy,  with  a  laugh.  "What  I 
meant  to  say  was,  that  you  are  undoubtedly  acquainted 
with  wealthy  gentlemen,  who  know  the  best  ways  of  invest 
ing  money.  I  find  my  money  a  great  trouble  to  me,"  she 
continued.  "I  had  $25,000  invested  in  a  first  mortgage, 
but  the  property  has  been  sold  and  the  money  repaid  to  me, 
and  I  don't  know  what  to  do  with  it." 


108  QUIXCY  ADAMS    SAWYER. 

"The  obvious  thing1  to  do,"  remarked  Quincy,  "is  to 
invest  it  at  once,  so  that  it  will  begin  paying  you  interest." 

"That  is  just  what  I  wished  to  see  you  about,"  re 
sponded  Lindy.  "How  would  you  advise  me  to  invest  it?" 
she  asked. 

"I  would  not  presume,"  replied  Quincy,  "to  give  positive 
advice  in  such  a  case.  I  would  go  either  to  Foss  &  Follans- 
bee,  or  Braithwaite  &  Mellen,  or  perhaps  Rothwell  Broth 
ers  &  Co.,  look  over  the  securities  they  have  for  sale  and 
make  my  own  selection,  if  I  were  in  your  place. 

Lindy  was  manifestly  disappointed  at  Quincy's  polite 
refusal  to  recommend  any  particular  security,  but  she  evi 
dently  realized  that  further  argument  or  entreaty  would 
be  useless,  so  she  quickly  changed  the  subject  by  remarking 
that  her  mother  had  considerable  money  invested,  but  that 
she  was  a  woman  who  never  took  any  advice  and  never 
gave  any. 

"I  wonder  who  my  mother  is  going  to  leave  her  money 
to?  Do  you  know,  Mr.  Sawyer?" 

Quincy  replied  that  he  did  not.  "But  she  did  tell  me 
that  by  the  terms  of  your  brother's  will  you  were  not  to 
inherit  it." 

"Well,  if  you  ever  find  out,"  said  Lindy,  "you  will  tell 
me,  won't  you,  Mr.  Sawyer?'' 

"Yes,"  said  Quincy,  "unless  I  am  requested  to  keep  it  a 
secret." 

"But  you  wouldn't  keep  it  from  me,  their  own  daugh 
ter,"  said  Lindy. 

"Well,"  he  replied,  "I  don't  think  it  at  all  likely  that  they 
will  inform  me ;  "but  I  promise  to  tell  you  if  I  learn  who  it  is 
and  am  not  bound  in  any  way  to  keep  the  information 
secret." 

"And  will  you  tell  me  just  as  soon  as  you  know?"  per 
sisted  Lindy. 

"In  less  than  twenty-four  hours  from  the  time  I  learn; 


A  LONG  LOST  KELATIVE.  109 

the  name  you  shall  hear  it  from  my  own  lips,"  he  re 
plied. 

"Thank  you,''  said  Lindy.  "Would  you  like  to  see  father 
and  mother?  Father  has  been  quite  sick  for  a  few  days  and 
they  are  in  their  own  room.  I  will  go  up  and  tell  them  you 
are  coming1." 

Quincy  was  left  in  the  room.  That  gossip  about  Miss 
Putnam  could  not  'be  true.  Gossip  said  she  was  ashamed 
of  her  father  and  mother,  and  yet  s>he  had  invited  him  to  go 
up  and  see  them.  'What  a  pretty  girl  she  was,  well  edu 
cated  and  with  a  hundred  thousand  dollars;  such  a  beautiful 
singer  and  their  voices  blended  so  nicely  together.  How 
pleased  his  mother  and  sisters  would  be  if  he  should  bring 
home  a  wife  like  her.  On  the  wall  hung  an  oil  portrait  of 
her,  evidently  painted  within  a  short  time.  He  sat  looking 
at  it  as  Lindy  opened  the  door. 

Before  he  could  remove  his  eyes  from  the  picture,  Lindy 
had  noticed  ihis  fixed  gaze  at  it  and  smiled  brightly. 

"Mother  would  be  delighted  to  see  you." 

Lindy  rang  a  small  bell  that  was  on  a  table.  In  a  mo 
ment  Samanthy  entered  the  room. 

"Samantha,  please  show  Mr.  Sawyer  to  mother's  room. 
Will  you  excuse  me,  Mr.  Sawyer,  if  I  am  not  here  to  say 
good-by  to  you  after  you  have  seen  mother?  I  am  going 
to  the  city  this  morning  and  there — "  looking  out  of  the 
window — "here  comes  Abner  Stiles;  he  is  going  to  drive 
me  over  to  Eastborough.  Did  you  ever  meet  Mr.  Stiles, 
Mr.  Sawyer?'' 

"I  may  have  seen  him,"  replied  Quincy. 

"Seeing  him  is  nothing,"  said  'Lindy.  "He  must  be 
heard  to  be  appreciated.  He  is  a  most  engaging  talker;  he 
has  caught  the  biggest  fish  and  killed  the  biggest  bears — " 

"And  told  the  biggest  lies,"  broke  in  Quincy, — 

"Of  any  man  in  town,"  Lindy  concluded. 

"I  think  there  is  one  man  in  town  who  can  tell  bigger 


110  QUINCY   ADAMS    SAWYER. 

ones,"  Quincy  said  gravely;  "he  has  been  telling  a  good 
many  lately." 

Lindy  looked  up  and  smiled.  "He  will  never  forgive 
us  for  what  wre  did  at  the  concert,"  said  she.  "Well,  I 
mustn't  keep  Mr.  Stiles  waiting  any  longer,  if  I  do  he 
may—" 

"Try  to  compete  with  the  other  one,"  added  Quincy. 

She  smiled  again,  and  gave  him  her  little  gloved  hand, 
which  he  took  in  -his  for  an  instant. 

She  ran  out  quickly  and  got  into  the  team,  which  imme 
diately  drove  off.  Samanbhy,  who  had  been  waiting  im 
patiently  in  the  liallway,  ushered  Quincy  into  an  upper 
chamber,  where  sat  Mrs.  Putnam.  Her  'husband  was 
reclining  on  a  lounge  near  the  fire. 

"Weil,  I  am  awful  glad  to  see  yer,"  said  Mrs.  Putnam. 
"Silas  here  hasn't  been  feelin'  fust  rate  for  more'n  a  week. 
Ke's  most  frozen  to  death  all  the  time.  So  I  got  him  up 
front  of  the  fire,  same  as  I  used  to  roast  turkeys.  Set  down, 
Mr.  Sawyer,  and  tell  me  all  the  news.  Have  you  heerd 
anybody  going  to  git  engaged  or  anybody  going  to  git 
married?  I  heerd  as  how  you  'had  left  Deacon  Mason's. 
So  you  'cided  to  take  my  advice.  I'm  kinder  sorry  you 
tipped  the  buggy  over,  for  Huldy  Mason's  a.  nice  girl.  The 
fact  is  I  was  thinkin'  more  of  her  than  I  was  of  you,  when 
I  told  yer  you'd  better  git  out.  Where  be  yer  boar  din' 
now  ?" 

"I  am  boarding  at  Mr.  Ezeklel  Pettengill's.  His  sister 
has  got  home  and  his  Uncle  Isaac  lias  come  back  to  live 
with  him." 

"Lord  sakes,  do  tell!"  said  Mrs.  Putnam.  "I  allus 
thought  tihat  old  fool  would  die  out  there  in  .the  woods  and 
they'd  bury  him  in  his  chicken  coop.  But  what  on  airth  is 
Alice  home  for?  Has  she  lost  her  job?" 

"No,"  replied  Quincy;  "poor  girl,  she  has  almost  lost 


A  LONG  LOST  RELATIVE.  Ill 

her  sight.  She.  has  been  very  sick,  and  as  a  result  she  is 
almost  blind,  and  had  to  give  up  work  and  come  home." 

Mrs.  Putnam  sank  'back  in  her  chair. 

"If  I  didn't  think  you  were  a  truthful  man,  Mr.  Sawyer, 
I  wouldn't  b'lieve  a  word  you  said.  My  poor  Alice.  Why, 
do  you  know,  Mr.  Sawyer,  I  never  saw  a  human  being  in 
ail  my  life  that  I  liked  so  much  as  I  have  Alice  Pettengill. 
Did  you  ever  see  her,  Mr.  Sawyer?" 

"No,"  said  Quincy,  "she  only  arrived  yesterday  after 
noon,  and  she  did  not  appear  at  supper  nor  at  breakfast  this 
morning.  She  was  tired  and  wished  to  rest,  her  brother 
told  me." 

"Well,  I  hope  she  won't  die,"  said  Mrs.  Putnam.  "I 
have  left  her  every  dollar  I've  got  in  the  world,  and  if  she 
should  die  I  shouldn't  know  wh©  on  airth  to  give  it  to. 
Well,  there,  I've  let  the  cat  out  of  the  bag,  and  my  daughter 
Lindy,  mean  as  she  is  about  money,  would  give  a  thou 
sand  dollars  to  know  who  I  am  goin'  to  leave  my  money 
to.  I  wish  I  could  see  Alice.  I  can't  walk,  and  that  poor, 
dear  girl  can't  see.  Why,  Mr.  Sawyer,  I  think  she's  the 
prettiest,  sweetest  girl  I  ever  sot  eyes  on  in  my  life,  and 
I've  seed  a  good  many  on  'em.  Now  you  tell  me  what  you 
think  of  her  the  next  time  you  come  up,  won't  you,  Mr. 
Sawyer?" 

"I  certainly  will/'  said  Quincy,  "and  if  she  will  come 
with  me  I  will  bring  her  over  to  see  you.  If  sihe  came  from 
Boston  with  her  brother,  she  can  surely  ride  as  far  as  this," 
he  added. 

"Tell  her  I  shall  count  every  minute  till  she  comes  over 
here,  but  don't  say  a  word  to  her  about  my  money,"  said 
Mrs.  Putnam. 

"Certainly  not,"  Quincy  answered.  "You  did  not  in 
tend  to  tell  me." 

"No,  I  didn't,"  acknowledged  Mrs.  Putnam,  "it  slipped 
out  before  I  thought." 


112  QUINCY  ADAMS    SAWYER. 

Quincy  arose.  "I  must  go  now,  Mrs.  Putnam.  I  have 
business  at  Eastborough  Centre,  and  I  don't  know  how 
long  it  will  take  me,  and  'besides,  I  am  anxious  to  see  Miss 
Pettengill  after  your  glowing  description  of  her  beauty 
and  her  virtues.'' 

"Well,  I  haven't  put  the  paint  on  half  as  thick  as  it 
would  stand,"  said  Mrs.  Putnam.  "Well,  good-by,  Mr. 
Sawyer.  It's  very  kind  in  you  to  come  and  see  two  old 
folks  like  us.  No  use  saying  'good-by  to  Silas;  he's  stone 
deef  and  besides  he's  sound  asleep." 

When  Quincy  took  up  the  reins  and  started  towards 
Eastborough  Centre  .it  was  with  conflicting  emotions.  If 
there  had  been  no  Alice  Pettengill  to  see,  Jhis  thoughts,  no 
doubt,  would  have  related  chiefly  to  Lindy  Putnam,  who 
had  never  attracted  his  attention  before  as  she  had  that 
morning.  Could  Alice  Pettengill  be  as  pretty  and  as  good 
as  Mrs.  Putnam  had  portrayed?  And  she  was  to  be  an 
heiress.  He  was  sorry  that  Mrs.  Putnam  had  told  him. 
When  ihe  was  talking  to  Miss  Pettengill  what  he  knew 
would  be  continually  in  his  mind.  He  was  glad  that  she 
was  to  have  the  money,  but  very  sorry  that  he  knew  she 
was  to  have  it;  heihad  promised  not  to  tell  her,  but  he  had 
promised  to  tell  Lindy.  Mrs.  Putnam  had  not  told  him 
not  to  tell  Lindy,  but  she  had  said  Lindy  would  give  a 
thousand  dollars  to  know.  Now,  was  that  the  same  as 
requesting  him  not  to  tell  Lindy,  and  should  he  tell  Lindy 
for  nothing  what  her  mother  said  she  would  give  a  thou 
sand  dollars  to  know?  Anyhow,  that  question  must  be 
decided  within  the  next  twenty-four  hours. 

Then  he  began  to  think  of  his  intended  visit  to  East- 
borough  Poorhouse.  Would  the  Jim  Sawyer  that  he 
found  there  turn  out  to  be  his  own  uncle?  What  a  sweet 
morsel  that  would  be  for  Strout  if  it  proved  to  be  true. 
Anyhow,  he  would  follow  his  father's  instructions  and  do 
all  he  could  for  his  uncle,  come  what  might. 


A   LONG  LOST  RELATIVE.  113 

Since  he  had  arrived  at  Mason's  Corner  everything  that 
he  had  done  seemed  to  give  rise  to  gossip,  and  a  little  more 
of  it  could  do  no  harm. 

Quincy  reached  the  Poorhouse  and  inquired  for  the 
keeper.  A  very  stout,  red-faced  man  answered  the  sum 
mons. 

He  informed  Quincy  that  his  name  was  Asa  Waters,  and 
that  he  had  been  keeper  of  the  town  Poorhouse  for  the 
last  ten  years. 

Quincy  thought  from  his  size,  as  he  evidently  weighed 
between  three  and  four  hundred  pounds,  that  he  had  prob 
ably  eaten  all  the  food  supplied  for  the  inmates.  In  reply 
to  a  direct  question  whether  there  was  a  man  there  by  the 
name  of  Jim  Sawyer,  Mr.  Waters  said  "yes,"  but  that  he 
was  sick  abed  and  had  been  for  the  last  week. 

"He  coughs  awful,"  said  Waters;  "in  fact,  I  had  to 
change  his  room  because  the  rest  of  us  couldn't  sleep. 
When  we  tried  to  move  him  he  became  sort  of  crazy  like, 
and  it  took  three  on  us  to  get  him  out  of  the  room  and  take 
him  upstairs.  He  seems  sot  on  getting  back  in  that  room. 
The  other  day  he  crawled  down  stairs  'and  we  found  him 
trying  to  get  into  the  room,  but  I  had  it  locked  and  we  had 
another  fight  to  get  him  upstairs  again." 

"Well,"  said  Quincy,  "I  would  like  to  see  him;  it  may 
be  he  is  a  distant  relative  of  our  family.  My  father  wishes 
me  to  talk  with  him  and  make  the  inquiry  anyway." 

"What  mought  your  name  be?"  asked  Mr.  Waters. 
i     "My  name  is  Quincy  Adams  Sawyer." 

"Oh,  yes,  I  remember  you,"  said  Waters.  "Wasn't  you 
the  singer  that  Mr.  Strout  hired  to  come  down  from  Bos 
ton  to  sing  at  his  concert.  Strout  told  me  he  paid  you  $50 
for  singing  that  night,  and  by  gosh  it  was  worth  it." 

Quincy  was  not  a  profane  young  man,  but  he  had  to 
smother  an  oath  on  hearing  that.  He  replied,  "Yes,  I 
sang  that  night." 


a4  QUIXCY   ADAMS  SAWYEK. 

"And,"  said  Waters,  ''didn't  you  whistle  that  piece, 
Listen  to  the  Bobolink,  fine?" 

"Here,  Sam,"  said  'he  to  a  young-  fellow  who  appeared 
in  sight,  "show  this  gentleman  up  to  Jim  Sawyer's  room; 
I'm  getting  kind  of  pussy,  and  I  don't  go  upstairs  much." 

Sam  performed  his  mission  and  Quincy  was  ushered  into 
the  room  and  found  himself  with  the  sick  man. 

"Is  your  name  James  Sawyer?"  asked  Quincy. 

"Yes/'  said  the  man.    "I  used  to  be  proud  of  it  once.'' 

"Did  you  have  a  brother?"  asked  Quincy. 

"Well,"  said  Jim,  "I  don't  think  he  would  be  proud  of 
me  now,  so  I  guess  I  won't  claim  any  relationship." 

Quincy  stopped  for  a  moment.  Evidently  the  man's 
pride  would  keep  him.  from  telling  anything  about  himself. 
He  would  try  him  on  a  new  tack.  The  man  had  a  long  fit 
of  coughing.  When  it  had  subsided,  Quincy  said,  "It 
wearies  you  to  talk.  I  will  do  the  talking,  and  if  what  I 
say  is  true  you  can  nod  your  head."  Quincy  continued, 
"Your  name  is  James  Edward  Sawyer,  your  brother's  name 
was  Nathaniel."  The  man  opened  his  eyes  wide  and  looked 
steadfastly  at  him.  "Your  father,  Edward  Sawyer,  left 
you  fifty  thousand  dollars."  The  man  clutched  with  both 
hands  at  the  quilt  on  the  bed.  "You  are  about  sixty  years 
of  aige."  The  man  nodded.  "You  married  a  young  girl 
who  lived  in  the  country  and  took  her  to  Boston  with  you; 
her  maiden  name  was  Eunice  Raymond." 

The  man  started  up  in  bed,  resting  on  his  elbow.  "How 
did  you  know  all  this?"  asked  he.  "Who  has  told  you  this? 
Who  are  you?" 

The  exertion  and  the  rapid  speaking  brought  on  another 
fit  of  coughing  and  he  fell  back  on  his  pillow. 

"If  what  I  have  said  is  true,"  remarked  Quincy  quietly, 
"your  brother,  Nathaniel,  is  my  father,  and  I  am  your 
nephew,  Quincy  Adams  Sawyer." 

"Who  sent  you  to  see  me?"  asked  the  man. 


A  LONG   LOST  KELATIVE.  115 

"I  heard,"  replied  Quincy,  "that  a  man  named  James 
Sawyer  was  in  the  Eastborough  Poorhouse.  I  wrote  to 
my  father,  and  in  his  reply  he  told  me  what  I  have  just 
said  to  you.  If  you  are  my  uncle,  father  says  to  do  every 
thing  I  can  to  help  you,  and  if  he  had  not  said  so  I  would 
have  done  it  anyway." 

"It  is  all  true,"  said  the  man  faintly.  "I  squandered  the 
money  my  father  left  me.  I  married  a  sweet,  young  girl 
and  took  her  to  the  city.  I  tried  to  introduce  her  into  the 
set  to  which  I  once  belonged.  It  was  a  failure.  I  was 
angry,  not  with  myself  for  expecting  too  much,  but  with 
her  because  she  gave  me  too  little,  as  I  then  thought.  We 
had  two  children — a  boy  named  Ray  and  a  little  girl  named 
Mary,  after  my  mother." 

"My  grandmother/'  said  Quincy. 

James  Sawyer  continued:  "I  took  to  drink.  I  abused  the 
woman  whose  only  fault  had  been  that  -she  had  loved  me.  I 
neglected  to  provide  for  my  family.  My  wife  fell  sick,  my 
two  little  children  died,  and  my  wife  soon  followed  them* 
I  returned  from  a  debauch  which  had  lasted  me  for  about  a 
month  to  find  that  I  was  alone  in  the  world.  I  fled  from 
the  town  where  we  had  lived,  came  here  and  tried  to  re 
form.  I  could  not.  I  fell  sick  and  they  sent  me  here  to  the 
Poorhouse.  I  have  had  no  ambition  to  leave.  I  knew  if 
I  did  it  would  mean  the  same  old  life.  I  am  glad  you 
came.  I  cannot  tell  you  how  glad.  I  do  not  wish  for  any 
assistance;  the  town  will  care  for  me  as  long  as  I  live,  which 
will  not  be  very  long-;  but  your  coming  enables  me  to  per 
form  an  act  of  justice  which  otherwise  I  could  not  have 
done." 

"Tell  me  in  what  way  I  can  serve  you,"  said  Quincy,, 
"and  it  shall  be  done." 

"Look  outside  of  the  door,"  said  the  man,  "and  see  il 
anybody  is  listening." 


116  QUINCY   ADAMS  SAWYER. 

Quincy  opened  the  door  suddenly  and  the  broad  face  of 
Mr.  Asa  Waters  stood  revealed. 

"I  thought  I  would  come  up  and  see  if  Mr.  Sawyer 
wanted  anything." 

"If  he  does,"  said  Quincy,  "I  will  inform  you;''  and  he 
closed  the  door  in  Mr.  Waters's  face. 

Quincy  waited  till  he  heard  his  ponderous  footsteps  de 
scending  the  stairs  at  the  foot  of  the  hallway. 

"Was  old  Waters  out  there  listening?"  asked  Jim  Saw 
yer. 

"I  don't  think  he  had  time  to  hear  anything,"  Quincy 
replied. 

"Come  closer/'  said  Jim;  "let  me  whisper.  I  am  not 
penniless.  I  have  got  some  money.  I  have  five  thousand 
dollars  in  government  bonds.  I  sold  some  stock  I  owned 
just  before  I  went  off  on  that  last  debauch,  but  I  didn't 
spend  all  the  money.  When  I  die  I  want  you  to  pay  back 
to  the  town  of  Eastborough  every  dollar  I  owe  for  board. 
Don't  let  anybody  know  you  got  the  money  from  me.  Pay 
it  yourself  and  keep  the  balance  of  it  yourself." 

"Where  is  the  money?"  said  Quincy. 

"It  is  down  in  my  old  room,  No.  24,  one  flight  down 
from  here,  at  the  otiher  end  of  the  hallway.  I  have  got  a 
key  that  will  open  the  door.  I  made  it  myself.  I  nearly 
got  in  there  the  other  day,  but  they  caught  me  before  I 
had  a  chance  to  open  the  door.  If  you  can  get  in  there  take 
up  the  fourth  brick  from  the  window,  second  row  from  the 
front  of  the  fireplace,  and  you  will  find  the  bonds  in  an  old 
leather  wallet.  What  time  is  it?"  he  asked  quickly. 

"Half-past  eleven,"  replied  Quincy. 

"Nbw  is  your  time,"  said  the  man;  "all  the  hands  have 
their  dinner  from  half-past  eleven  to  twelve ;  at  twelve  they 
feed  us;  take  this  key,  and  if  you  get  the  money,  for  God's 
sake  come  around  to-morrow  and  let  me  know.  I  sha'n't 
.sleep  a  wink  till  I  hear  from  you." 


A    LONG   LOST  RELATIVE.  117 

Quincy  pressed  the  sick  man's  hand  and  left  the  room. 
He  went  downstairs  on  tiptoe  and  quickly  reached  room 
No.  24.  He  listened;  all  was  quiet;  it  took  but  an  instant 
to  open  the  door,  and,  slipping  quietly  in,  he  locked  it 
after  him.  With  some  difficulty  he  found  the  wallet, 
looked  inside  and  saw  five  one  thousand  dollar  United 
States  bonds.  He  put  the  wallet  in  his  pocket,  replaced  the 
brick,  and  listened  at  the  door;  all  was  quiet.  He  unlocked 
it,  slipped  out,  locked  it,  and  was  retracing  his  steps,  when 
he  saw  Sam  coming1  upstairs  at  the  other  end  of  the  hallway. 

"I  think  I  took  the  wrong  turn/'  said  Quincy.  "I 
thought  I  came  up  that  way.5' 

"No,"  said  Sam;  "that's  the  back  way." 

"Thank  you,''  said  Quincy,  as  he  ran  lightly  downstairs. 
At  the  foot  he  met  Mr.  Waters. 

"Well,  is  he  any  relative  of  yours?"  asked  Waters. 

*'I  don't  know  yet,"  replied  Quincy;  "he  has  given  me 
some  facts,  and  I  am  going  to  write  to  Boston,  and  when  I 
hear  from  there  I  will  be  able  to  answer  your  question.  I 
will  come  around  in  a  few  days,  as  soon  as  I  hear  from  the 
city." 

Quincy  jumped  into  his  team  and  drove  to  Eastborough 
Centre  post  office  to  see  if  there  were  any  letters  for  him. 

When  he  reached  the  post  office  he  found  a  letter  from 
his  father,  informing  him  his  mother  and  sisters  were  going 
to  New  York  for  a  two  weeks'  visit  and  would  very  much 
like  to  see  him  if  he  would  run  up  the  next  day. 

Quincy's  mind  was  made  up  instantly.  He  drove  to  the 
hotel,  left  the  team,  with  instructions  to  have  it  ready  for 
him  when  he  came  down  on  the  express  that  reached  East- 
borough  Centre  at  7.15  P.  M.,  ran  for  the  station  and 
caught  on  to  the  back  platform  of  the  last  car  as  it  sped  on 
its  way  to  Boston. 

Arriving  there,  he  first  took  a  hasty  lunch,  then  hiring 
a  coupe  by  the  hour,  drove  to  his  bank  on  State  Street. 


118  QUINCY   ADAMS  SAWYER. 

Here  he  left  the  bonds  with  instructions  to  write  to  East- 
borough  Centre  the  amount  realized  from  them  and  passed 
to  the  credit  of  his  account. 

His  next  trip  was  to  his  father's  house  on  Beacon  Street, 
where  .he  found  his  motiher  and  sisters.  They  were  over 
joyed  to  see  him,  and  his  younger  sister  declared  that  he 
had  grown  better  looking  since  he  went  away.  She  wanted 
to  know  if  he  had  fallen  in  love  with  a  country  girl.  Quincy 
replied  that  his  heart  was  still  free  and  if  it  wasn't  for  the 
law  he  would  have  her  for  his  wife,  and  no  one  else.  Maude 
laughed  and  slapped  him. 

He  next  rode  to  his  father's  office  on  Court  Street.  The 
Hon.  Nathaniel  had  just  lunched  at  Parker's  and  was  en 
joying  a  good  cigar  when  his  son  came  in. 

Quincy  told  him  that  the  Jim  Sawyer  at  Eastborough 
Poorhouse  was  unquestionably  their  missing  relative. 

"Poor  Jim,"  said  Nathaniel;  "I  ought  to  go  and  see  ihim." 

"No;  I  wouldn't,"  said  Quincy,  "it  will  do  no  good,  and 
his  remorse  is  deep  enough  now  without  adding  to  it." 

He  then  told  his  father  about  the  money,  and  the  latter 
agreed  that  Jim's  idea  was  right  and  Quincy  had  best  use 
the  money  as  though  it  were  his  own. 

"By  the  by,"  said  his  father,  wheeling  round  in  his  office 
chair,  "that  Miss  Putnam  from  Eastborough  is  a  very  pretty 
girl;  don't  you  think  so,  Quincy?" 

"Handsome  is  as  handsome  does,"  thought  Quincy  to 
himself,  but  he  only  said,  "Where  did  you  see  her?" 

"She  was  in  here  to-day,"  replied  his  father.  "She  said 
she  had  $25,000  to  invest,  and  that  you  gave  her  the  address 
of  some  broker,  but  that  she  had  forgotten  it.'' 

"Her  statement  is  partially  true,"  said  Quincy,  "but  not 
complete.  I  gave  her  three  addresses,  because  I  did  not 
wish  to  recommend  any  particular  one.  I  wished  her  to 
make  her  own  choice." 

"I  was  not  so  conservative,"  remarked  his  father.     "I 


A  LONG   LOST    RELATIVE.  119 

advised  her  to  go  to  Foss  &  Follansbee  and  even  suggested 
that  Quinnebaug  Copper  Company  was  one  of  the  most 
promising  investments  before  the  public  to-day." 

"Did  she  confide  in  you  any  farther,"  said  Quincy. 

"Oh,  yes,"  replied  his  father;  "I  gleaned  she  was  worth 
$100,000  and  that  her  parents,  who  were  very  old  people, 
had  nearly  as  much  more.  I  remember  her  brother,  J.  Jones 
Putnam.  He  was  a  'plunger/  and  a  successful  one.  He 
died  suddenly  of  lung  fever,  I  believe." 

Quincy  smiled. 

"She  seemed  to  be  well  educated,"  his  father  continued, 
"and  told  me  that  you  and  she  sang  together  at  a  concert." 

"Did  she  tell  you  wihat  her  father's  religion  was?'' 
inquired  Quincy. 

"You  don't  seem  to  admire  this  young  lady,  Quincy.  I 
thought  she  would  be  likely  to  be  a  great  friend  of  yours. 
You  might  do  worse  than — " 

"I  know,*'  said  Quincy,  "she  is  pretty,  well  educated, 
musical,  very  tasteful  in  dress,  and  has  money,  but  she  can't 
have  me.  But  how  did  it  end?5'  asked  he;  "how  did  you  get 
rid  of  her?" 

"Well,"  replied  his  father,  "as  I  said  before,  I  thought 
she  must  be  a  great  friend  of  yours,  and  perhaps  more,  so  I 
went  down  to  Foss  &  Follansbee's  with  her;  then  we  went 
to  Parker's  to  lunch,  then  I  sent  her  to  the  station  in  a 
coupe.'' 

"I  am  greatly  obliged  to  you,  father,"  said  Quincy,  "for 
the  kind  attentions  you  paid  her.  I  shall  get  the  full  credit 
of  them  down  in  Eastborougth ;  your  name  will  not  be  men 
tioned;  only,"  said  Quincy  with  a  laugh,  "if  she  is  coming 
to  the  city  very  often  I  think  perhaps  I  had  better  come 
back  to  Boston  and  look  after  mother's  interests." 

The  Hon.  Nathaniel  was  nettled  by  this  and  said  sternly, 
*'I  do  not  like  that  sort  of  pleasantry,  Quincy." 


120  QUINCY  ADAMS    SAWYER. 

"Neither  do  I,"  said  Quincy  coolly,  "and  I  hope  there 
will  be  no  further  occasion  for  it." 

"How  long  do  you  intend  to  remain  in  Eastborough?" 
asked  his  father. 

"I  don't  know,"  replied  Quincy.  "I  can't  come  home 
while  Uncle  Jim  is  sick,  of  course.  I  will  ask  him  if  he 
would  like  to  see  you,  and  if  he  says  yes,  I  will  telegraph 
you.  Well,  good-by.  I  was  up  to  the  house  and  saw  mother 
and  the  girls.  I  am  going  up  to  the  club  to  see  if  I  can 
meet  some  of  the  boys  and  have  some  dinner,  and  I  shall 
go  down  on  the  6.05  express." 

Quincy  lighted  a  cigar,  shook  hands  rather  stiffly  with 
his  father  and  left  the  office. 

When  Quincy  reached  the  Pettengill  house  it  was  a  little 
after  eight  o'clock.  Hiram  came  out  to  help  him  put  up 
the  horse.  "Anybody  up?"  asked  Quincy. 

"Only  Mandy  and  me,"  said  Hiram.  "Uncle  Ike  is  up 
in  his  attic,  and  'Zeke  is  up  talkin'  to  his  sister,  and  Mandy 
and  me  has  been  talkin'  to  each  other;  and,  say,  Mr.  Saw 
yer,  did  you  meet  Lindy  Putnam  up  in  Boston  to-day?'' 

"No,"  said  Quincy  between  'his  shut  teeth. 

"Well,  that's  funny,"  said  Hiram;  "I  heard  Abner  Stiles 
telling  Strout  as  how  Miss  Putnam  told  him  that  Mr.  Saw 
yer  had  been  to  the  'banker's  with  her  to  invest  her  money, 
and  that  Mr.  Sawyer  took  her  out  to  lunch  and  then  rode 
down  to  the  station  in  a  carriage  and  put  her  aboard  the 
train." 

"There  are  a  great  many  Mr.  Sawyers  in  Boston,  you 
must  remember,  Hiram,"  remarked  Quincy.  "Anything 
else,  Hiram?" 

"Well,  not  much  more,"  replied  Hiram;  "but  Strout  said 
that  if  you  got  Lindy  and  her  money  and  then  cajoled  the 
old  couple  into  leavin'  their  money  to  you,  that  it  would 
be  the  best  game  of  bunco  that  had  ever  been  played  in 
Eastborough." 


A  LOtfG  LOST  KELATIVE.  121 

"Well,  Strout  ought  to  know  what  a  good  bunco  game 
is/'  said  Quincy.  "Have  the  horse  ready  by  nine  o'clock  in 
the  morning  if  you  can  get  over.  Good  night,  Hiram,"  he 
said. 

He  passed  through  the  kitchen,  saying  good  night  to 
•Mandy,  and  went  straight  to  his  own  room.  He  sat  and 
thougiht  for  an  hour,  going  over  the  events  of  the  day. 

"As  soon  as  Unck  Jim  is  dead  and  buried,"  said  he  to 
himself,  "I  think  I  will  leave  this  town.  As  the  children  say 
when  they  play  'hide  and  go  seek,'  I  am  getting  warm." 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

A   PROMISE    KEPT. 

QUINCY  was  up  next  morning  at  eight  o'clock  and 
ate  his  breakfast  with  'Zekiel.  'Zekiel  said  his 
sister  did  not  sleep  well  nights,  and  so  would  not  be  down 
till  later. 

"Do  you  want  the  team  this  morning,  Mr.  Pettengill?" 
asked  Quincy. 

"No,''  said  'Zekiel,  "but  the  Boston  doctor  wrote  to  Dea 
con  Mason  that  he  was  comin'  down  this  afternoon  to  take 
that  stuff  off  Huldy's  arm,  and  she  wanted  me  to  come 
up,  so  I  shall  be  up  there  all  the  afternoon.'' 

'That  reminds  me,"  said  Quincy.  "Will  you  tell  Deacon 
Mason  that  I  want  the  nurse  to  stay  until  to-morrow  and 
I  will  be  up  to  see  her  at  nine  o'clock?" 

Quincy  took  up  the  reins  and  started  for  Eastborough 
Poorhouse. 

He  found  his  uncle  weaker  than  on  the  day  before. 
Quincy  touched  his  hand,  but  did  not  lift  it  from  the  bed. 
Jim  pointed  towards  the  door. 

"It's  all  right,"  said  Quincy,  "there  is  no  one  there.'' 

"Did  you  get  it?"  asked  Uncle  Jim  in  a  whisper. 

"Yes,"  replied  Quincy,  "and  it's  safe  in  the  bank  in'' 
Boston." 

"Thank  God!"  exclaimed  Uncle  Jim.  "Now  I  don't  care 
how  soon  I  am  called  to  judgment  for  my  sins.'' 

"Uncle  Jim,"  said  Quincy,  "I  saw  my  father  yesterday 
afternoon.  Would  you  like  to  have  your  brother  come 
and  see  you?" 


A  PKOMISE  KEPT.  123 

Uncle  Jim  shook  his  head.  "It  will  do  no  good,''  said 
he.  "You  have  done  all  I  could  wish  for.  Pay  the  town 
for  my  'board.  Give  them  what  they  ask.  Do  with  the 
balance  what  you  wish,  Quincy.  It  is  yours." 

"Where  do  you  wish  to  be  buried,  Uncle?"  asked  Quincy; 
bravely. 

"Right  here,"  replied  Uncle  Jim.  "One  of  the  boys 
here  died  about  a  month  ago;  ihis  name  was  Tom  Buck. 
Be  was  a  good  fellow  and  did  many  kind  things  for  me. 
Bury  me  side  of  him." 

"One  more  question,  Uncle,"  said  Quincy.  "In  what 
town  did  your  wife  and  children  reside  when  they  died?" 

"In  Amesbury,"  said  Un-cle  Jim.  An  idea  seemed  to 
strike  him.  "Well,  Quincy,  do  you  suppose  you  could  find 
where  they  are  buried?" 

"Of  course  I  can,"  Quincy  answered. 

"Well,"  continued  Uncle  Jim,  "I  don't  deserve  it,  I  am 
not  worthy  of  it,  but  she  always  loved  me,  and  so  did  the 
children.  I  never  struck  her,  'nor  them,  nor  did  I  ever 
speak  unkindly  to  them.  I  never  went  home  when  I  was 
drunk.  I  deserted  them  and  left  them  to  suffer.  I  don't 
think  she  would  object,  do  you?" 

Quincy  divined  his  thoughts  and  answered,  "No,  I  do 
not,  Uncle." 

"If  you  will  do  it,  Quincy,"  said  Uncle  Jim,  "I  shall  die 
a  happy  man.  Buy  a  little  lot  and  put  me  beside  Eunice 
and  the  children.  Don't  put  my  name  on  the  stone,  put 
her  name  and  those  of  the  children.  That  will  please  me 
best.  She  will  know  I  am  there,  but  others  will  not." 

"It  shall  -be  done  as  you  say,  Uncle,"  said  Quincy.  "I 
will  be  here  early  to-morrow  morning  and  I  shall  come 
every  day  to  see  you.  Good-by." 

He  touched  his  uncle's  hand  again  softly  and  left  the 
room.  Uncle  Jim,  with  a  smile  upon  his  wasted  face,  fell 
asleep. 


124 

Quiticy  drove  leisurely  towards  Mason's  Corner.  It  was 
more  than  twenty-four  hours  since  he  had  learned  who 
was  to  be  Mrs.  Putnam's  heiress.  He  had  made  a  promise. 
Should  he  keep  it?  How  could  he  avoid  keeping  it?  He 
would  see  Miss  Putnam  and  be  governed  by  circumstances. 

He  reached  the  Putnam  house  and  was  shown,  into  the 
same  room  as  on  the  morning  before.  In  a  few  minutes 
Lindy  joined  him.  He  had  never  seen  faer  looking  better. 
She  had  on  a  handsome  gown  that  he  had  never  seen  before» 
Quincy  opened  the  conversation. 

"Did  you  enjoy  your  trip  to  Boston  yesterday,  Miss 
Putnam?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  replied  Lindy,  "I  must  tell  you  all  about 
it." 

"There  is  no  need  to,  Miss  Putnam,  I  am  acquainted 
with  the  most  important  events  of  your  trip  already." 

"Why,  how?"  asked  Lindy.  "Oh,  I  see,"  said  she,  "you 
had  a  letter  from  your  father." 

"No,"  said  Quincy.  "I  had  the  pleasure  of  a  conversa 
tion  with  my  father  yesterday  afternoon  in  Boston." 

"Is  that  so?"  exclaimed  Lindy. 

"Yes,"  said  Quincy,  "but  I  might  have  learned  all  the 
principal  facts  without  leaving  Mason's  Corner.  In  fact,  I 
did  learn  them  in  a  somewihat  distorted  shape  late  last  even 
ing." 

Lindy  colored  until  her  forehead  was  as  red  as  her 
cheeks. 

"I  do  not  understand  you,  Mr.  Sawyer,"  she  remarked, 

"It  is  easily  explained,"  said  Quincy.  "Mr.  Stiles  for 
got  to  mention  that  it  was  my  father  who  was  your  escort 
and  not  myself.  Of  course  he  would  offer  the  similarity  in 
names  as  his  excuse." 

"And  so,'*  said  Lindy,  recovering  herself,  "you  have 
come  here  to  scold  me  because  Abner  Stiles  didn't  tell  the 
truth.  I  told  you  he  was  a  wonderful  story  teller." 


A  PROMISE  KEPT.  125 

"No,  Miss  Putnam,"  said  Quincy,  "I  did  not  come  'here 
for  any  such  purpose.  I  made  you  a  promise  yesterday 
and  I  have  come  to  keep  it.  I  know  who  is  to  inherit  your 
mother's  money.  She  did  not  intend  to  tell  me,  but  the 
name  escaped  her  unintentionally." 

"Did  she  ask  you  not  to  tell  me?"  asked  Lindy. 

"No,"  replied  Quincy,  "not  in  so  many  words." 

"Then  you  must  tell  me,"  cried  Lindy  eagerly. 

"Well,  I  don't  know/'  said  Quincy.  "Your  mother  said 
you  would  give  a  thousand  dollars  to  know  the  name  of  the 
person.  This  fixes  the  condition  on  which  I  shall  divulge 
the  name." 

"And  if  I  did  give  you  a  thousand  dollars,''  inquired 
Lindy,  "what  would  you  do  with  the  money?" 

"I  should  give  it  to  your  mother,"  said  Quincy.  "She 
fixed  the  price  of  the  secret,  not  I." 

Lindy  walked  to  the  window  and  looked  out.  She 
wished  to  know  the  name.  She  had  her  suspicions,  but 
she  could  not  bear  to  give  up  a  thousand  dollars  of  her  own 
money,  for  she  knew  that  this,  too,  would  go  to  the  un 
known  heiress.  She  knew  Alice  Pettengill  was  in  town  and 
at  her  brother's  house.  She  'had  been  there  for  a  whole  day 
and  parts  of  two  others.  She  would  save  'her  money  and  at 
the  same  time  learn  the  truth. 

Turning  to  Quincy  she  said,  "I  cannot  afford  to  pay  you, 
or  rather  my  mother,  a  thousand  dollars  for  the  secret.  It 
is  not  worth  it.  I  will  not  ask  you  again  for  her  name, 
but  if  you  will  answer  me  one  simple  question  I  will 
absolve  you  from  your  promise." 

Quincy  reflected.  He  knew  that  Lindy  was  deep  and 
that  she  was  plotting  something  while  she  stood  at  the  win 
dow.  But  he  wished  this  matter  over,  he  was  tired  of  it, 
so  he  replied,  "I  will  answer  your  simple  question,  Miiss 
Putnam,  on  one  condition.  It  is  that  you  will  not  deem 


126  QUINCY  ADAMd    SAWYEF* 

me  guilty  of  any  intentional  discourtesy  if,  after  replying 
to  it,  I  at  once  take  my  leave." 

They  faced  each  other,  she  hardly  able  to  conceal  her 
impatience,  he  with  a  stern  look  upon  his  face. 

"My  simple  question  is  this,  Mr.  Sawyer,  have  you  ever 
eaten  a  meal  at  the  same  table  with  my  mother's  heiress?" 

"I  have  never  seen  her,"  replied  Quincy  coldly.  He 
took  his  hat,  and  with  a  low  bow  quitted  the  house  and 
drove  away. 

Lindy  threw  herself  in  a  passion  on  the  sofa  and  burst 
into  a  flood  of  tears.  She  'had  played  her  last  card  and  had 
lost. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

AN    INFORMAL   INTRODUCTION. 

^R'X  7HEN  Quincy  drove  into  the  -barn  he  found  Jim 
^  *  Cobb  there,  and  .he  turned  the  horse  over  to  him. 
Entering  by  the  back  door  he  passed  through  the  kitchen 
without  seeing  either  Mandy  or  Mrs.  Crowley,  and  went 
slowly  upstairs.  The  (house  was  very  quiet.  He  remem 
bered  that  Uncle  Ike  had  gone  to  Eastborough  Centre  and 
'Zekiel  had  gone  to  Deacon  Mason's.  It  was  necessary 
for  him  to  pass  the  door  of  the  room  occupied  by  Alice 
Pettengill  in  order  to  reach  his  own  room.  The  door  of 
her  room  was  open.  He  involuntarily  glanced  in  and  then 
stood  still. 

What  vision  was  this  that  met  his  eye?  The  sun,  now 
dropping  to  the  westward,  threw  its  rays  in  at  the  window 
and  they  fell  upon  the  head  of  the  young  girl  seated  beside 
it. 

The  hair  was  golden  in  the  sunlight,  that  real  golden  that 
is  seldom  seen  excepting  on  the  heads  of  young  children. 
She  seemed  slight  in  figure,  but  above  the  average  stature. 
She  wore  a  loose-fitting  dress  of  light  blue  material,  faced 
down  the  front  with  white,  and  over  her  shoulders  was 
thrown  a  small  knitted  shawl  of  a  light  pink  color.  Quincy 
could  not  see  her  face,  except  in  profile,  for  it  was  turned 
towards  the  window,  but  the  profile  was  a  striking  one.  He 
turned  to  step  forward  and  enter  his  own  room.  As  he  did 
so  the  board  upon  which  he  stood  creaked.  He  stopped 
again  suddenly,  hoping  that  the  noise  would  not  attract 
her  attention,  but  her  quick  ear  had  caught  the  sound,  and, 


128  QUINCY  ADAMS  SAWYER. 

rising,  she  advanced  towards  the  door,  her  hands  extended 
before  'her. 

"Is  that  you,  Uncle  Ike?"  she  asked  in  a  clear,  sweet 
voice.  "I  heard  you  drive  in." 

She  had  started  in  a  straight  line  towards  the  door,  but 
for  some  cause,  perhaps  the  bright  light  coming  from  the 
wood  fire  in  the  open  fireplace,  she  swerved  in  her  course 
and  would  have  walked  directly  towards  the  blazing  wood 
had  not  Quincy  rushed  forward,  caught  her  'by  the  hahU 
and  stopped  her  further  progress,  saying  as  he  did  so,  "Miss 
Pettengill,  you  will  set  your  dress  on  fire." 

"You  are  not  Uncle  Ike,"  said  she,  quickly.  "He  could 
not  walk  as  fast  as  that.  Who  are  you?  You  must  know 
me,  for  you  called  me  by  name.'' 

Quincy  replied,  "Under  the  circumstances,  Miss  Petten 
gill,  I  see  no  way  but  to  introduce  myself.  I  am  your 
brother's  boarder,  and  my  name  is  Sawyer." 

"I  am  pleased  to  meet  you,  Mr.  Sawyer,"  said  she,  ex 
tending  her  'hand,  which  Quincy  took.  "I  feel  acquainted 
with  you  already,  for  Uncle  Ike  speaks  of  you  very  often, 
and  'Zekiel  said  you  used  to  board  at  Deacon  Mason's. 
Don't  you  think  Huldy  is  a  lovely  girl?" 

Quincy  avoided  this  direct  question  and  replied,  "Uncle 
Ike  has  been  equally  kind  in  speaking  of  his  niece,  Miss 
Pettengill,  so  that  I  feel  acquainted  with  .her  even  without 
this, — I  was  going  to  say  formal  introduction, — but  I  think 
that  we  must  both  confess  it  was  rather  informal." 

Alice  laughed  merril}.  "Won't  you  sit  down,  Mr.  Saw 
yer?  I  have  been  alone  nearly  all  day,  and  'have  really  been 
very  lonesome." 

She  turned  and  groped,  as  if  feeling  for  a  chair.  Quincy 
sprang  forward,  placed  a  large  rocking  chair  before  the 
fire,  then,  taking  her  hand,  saw  her  safely  ensconced  in  it. 
He  then  took  a  seat  in  a  large  armchair  at  the  end  of  the 
fireplace  nearest  the  door. 


AN  INFORMAL  INTRODUCTION.  128 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Sawyer,"  said  Alice.  "Everybody  has 
been  so  kind  to  me  since  I  have  had  this  -trouble  with  my 
eyes.  Of  course  'Zekiel  has  told  you  about  it." 

"Yes,"  assented  Quincy. 

He  really  did  not  care  to  talk.  He  was  satisfied  to  sit 
and  look  at  her,  and  he  could  do  this  with  impunity,  for 
she  could  not  see  his  earnest  gaze  fixed  upon  her. 

"I  have  been  used  to  an  active  life,"  said  Alice.  "I  have 
had  my  business  to  attend  to  'every  day,  and  evenings  I 
had  my  books,  papers,  pictures,  and  music.  At  first  it 
seemed  so  hard  to  be  shut  out  from  them  all,  but  years  ago 
Uncle  Ike  taught  me  to  be  a  philosopher  an.d  to  take  life 
as  it  came,  without  constantly  fretting  or  finding  fault. 
Uncle  Ike  says,  'It  is  not  work  but  worry  that  wears  men 
out.'  That's  why  he  came  down  here  to  live  in  the  woods. 
He  said  they  wouldn't  let  him  work  and  so  he  worried  all 
the  time,  but  when  he  came  here  he  had  plenty  to  do,  and 
in  his  work  he  found  happiness." 

"I  am  learning  a  good  lesson,"  said  Quincy  with  a  laugh. 
"I  have  studied  much,  but  I  actually  never  did  QJ  day's 
work  in  all  my  life,  Miss  Pettengill." 

"Then  you  are  to  be  pitied,"  said  Alice  frankly;  "but  I 
see  I  should  not  blame  you,  you  are  studying  now  and  get 
ting  ready  to  work." 

"Perhaps  so,"  Quincy  remarked.  "My  father  wishes  me 
to  be  a  lawyer,  but  I  detest  reading  law,  and  have  no  in 
clination  to  follow  in  my  father's  footsteps." 

"Perhaps  you  are  too  young,"  said  Alice,  "to  settle  upon 
your  future  career.  I  cannot  see  you,  you  know,  and 
Uncle  Ike  did  not  say  how  old  you  were." 

Quincy  smiled.  "I  am  in  my  twenty-fourth  year,"  said 
he.  "I  graduated  at  Harvard  two  years  ago." 

"So  old!"  exclaimed  Alice;  "why,  I  am  not  twenty-one 
until  next  June,  and  I  'have  been  working  for  my  living 
since  I  was  sixteen." 


130  QUmCY   ADAMS  SAWYER. 

Quincy  said,  "I  wish  I  had  as  honorable  a  record." 

"Now  you  are  vexed  with  me  for  speaking  so  plainly ,V 
said  Alice. 

"Not  at  all,"  Quincy  replied.  "I  thank  you  for  it.  I 
have  learned  from  Uncle  Ike  that  frankness  of  speech  and 
honesty  of  heart  are  Pettengill  characteristics." 

"You  might  add,"  said  Alice,  "firmness  in  debate,  for 
none  of  us  like  to  own  up  that  we  are  beaten.  I  remember 
years  ago  Uncle  Ike  and  I  had  a  long  discussion  as  to 
whether  it  were  better  to  be  stone  blind  or  stone  deaf.  I 
took  the  ground  that  it  was  better  to  be  blind,  for  one  could 
hear  music  and  listen  to  the  voices  of  friends,  and  hear  the 
sound  of  approaching  danger,  and  then,  besides,  everybody 
is  so  kind  to  a  person  who  is  blind.  But  you  see  Uncle  Ike 
don't  care  for  music,  and  had  rather  talk  himself  than  listen, 
so  he  decided  that  it  was  best  to  be  stone  deaf,  for  then 
he  could  read  and  write  to  his  friends.  But  of  course 
neither  of  us  gave  in,  and  the  question,  so  far  as  we  are 
concerned,  is  still  unsettled.'5 

At  that  moment  the  sound  of  a  team  was  heard,  and  a 
few  minutes  later  Uncle  Ike  came  upstairs,  followed  by  the 
driver  of  the  team  bearing  a  big  basket  and  a  large  bundle. 
These  contained  Uncle  Ike's  purchases. 

"Wait  a  minute  and  I' will  go  upstairs  with  you,"  called 
out  Uncle  Ike  to  the  man.  He  entered  the  room,  and 
looking  somewhat  surprised  at  seeing  Quincy,  he  said 
somewhat  sharply,  "So  you  two  have  got  acquainted,  have 
you?  I  have  been  waiting  for  two  days  to  introduce  you." 

"I  am  greatly  indebted  to  Mr.  Sawyer,"  said  Alice. 
"When  he  passed  my  door,  which  was  open,  I  thought  it 
was  you  and  I  started  forward  to  meet  you,  but  I  missed 
my  way  and  was  walking  directly  towards  the  fire,  when 
Mr.  Sawyer  interposed." 

"I  should  have  done  the  same  thing  had  it  been  me," 


AN  INFOKMAL  INTRODUCTION  131 

said  Uncle  Ike.    "So  I  don't  see  as  you  were  in  any  real 
danger." 

Quincy  thought  that  it  was  noticeably  evident  that  the 
Pettengills  were  noted  for  plainness  of  speech. 

"Here  are  three  letters  for  you,  Alice,  and  here  is  one 
for  you,  Mr.  Sawyer.  I  thought  I  would  bring  it  over  to 
you  as  I  met  Asa  Waters  down  to  the  post  office  and  he 
said  you'd  started  for  home.  I'll  be  down  in  a  few  min 
utes,  Alice,  and  read  your  letters  for  you."  And  Uncle 
Ike  showed  the  man  the  way  up  to  his  domicile. 

Quincy  arose,  expressed  his  pleasure  at  having  met 
Miss  Pettengill,  and  presuming  they  would  meet  again  at 
dinner,  took  his  leave. 

The  letter  was  from  Quincy's  father.  It  was  short,  but 
was  long  enough  to  cause  Quincy  to  smother  an  oath,  crush 
the  letter  in  his  hands  and  throw  it  into  the  open  fire.  The 
flames  touched  it,  and  the  strong  draught  took  it  still  ablaze 
up  tfie  wide-mouthed  chimney. 

But  Quincy's  unpleasant  thought  did  not  go  with  it.  The 
letter  had  said,  "Quinnebaug  stock  'has  dropped  off  five 
points.  Foss  &  Follansbee  have  written  Miss  Putnam  that 
she  must  put  up  five  thousand  dollars  to  cover  margin. 
Better  see  her  at  once  and  tell  her  the  drop  is  only  tem 
porary,  and  the  stock  is  sure  to  recover." 

Quincy  sat  down  in  his  easy-chair,  facing  the  fire,  upon 
which  he  put  some  more  wood,  which  snapped  and  crackled. 

"I  won't  go  near  that  girl  again,"  said  he,  with  a  deter 
mined  look  upon  his  face.  The  next  moment  he  had  ban- 
,shed  Lindy  Putnam  from  his  mind,  and  was  thinking  of 
chat  other  girl  who  was  sitting  not  six  feet  from  him.  He 
could  hear  Uncle  Ike's  voice,  and  he  knew  that  Alice's  let 
ters  were  being  read  to  her.  Then  he  fell  into  a  reverie 
as  the  twilight  shadows  gathered  round  him.  As  the  room 
grew  -darker  the  fire  grew  brighter,  and  in  it  he  could  seem 
to  see  a  picture  of  a  fair-haired  girl  sitting  in  a  chair  and 


132  QUINCY  ADAMS  SAWYER. 

listening  with  evident  interest  to  a  young  man  who  was 
reading  to  her  from  a  newspaper. 

Xfoe  young  girl  placed  her  hand  upon  his  arm  and  asked 
a  question.  The  young  man  dropped  the  paper  and  gazed 
into  the  girl's  face  with  a  look  full  of  tenderness,  and  plac 
ing  one  of  his  'hands  upon  that  of  the  young  girl  clasped  it 
fondly,  and  Quincy  saw  that  the  face  of  this  young  man 
was  his  own.  He  sat  there  until  there  came  a  loud  rap  upon 
the  door  and  'Mandy's  voice  called  out,  "Supper's  ready." 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

THE  COURTIN'. 

WHILE  Quincy  was  taking  his  first  steps  in  Lover's 
Lane,  which  steps  so  often  lead  to  the  high  road  of 
Matrimony,  'Zekiel  Pettengill  had  reached  the  end  of  his 
lane,  which  had  been  very  long  with  many  devious  turns, 
and  he  found  himself  at  that  point  where  the  next  import 
ant  question  was  to  fix  the  day. 

'Zekiel  was  a  strong-minded,  self-willed,  self-reliant 
young  man,  but  in  the  presence  of  Huldy  'Mason  he  was 
as  big  a  coward  as  the  world  ever  saw.  She  had  sent  a 
little  note  to  'him,  saying  that  she  wished  to  see  him  that 
afternoon,  and  he  knew  their  fates  would  be  decided  that 
day.  He  was  hopeful,  but  the  most  hopeful  lover  has 
spasms  of  uncertainty  until  his  lady  love  'has  said  yes  and 
yes  again. 

Dressed  in  his  best,  'Zekiel  knocked  at  Deacon  Mason's 
front  door.  For  an  instant  he  wished  himself  safe  at  home 
and  debated  whether  he  could  get  round  the  corner  of  the 
house  before  the  door  was  opened.  He  turned  his  head  to 
measure  the  distance,  but  at  that  moment  the  door  wai 
opened,  and  Mrs.  Mason's  smiling  face  was  before  him, 
and  her  pleasant,  cheery  voice  said,  "Come  in,  'Zekiel." 

He  felt  reassured  by  this,  for  he  argued  to  himself  that 
she  would  have  called  him  Mr.  Pettengill  if  there  had  been 
any  change  in  her  feelings  towards  him.  They  entered  the 
parlor,  and  Mrs.  Mason  said,  "Take  off  your  things  and 
leave  them  right  here,  and  go  right  up  and  see  Huldy. 
She  is  waitin'  for  you.  The  doctor's  been  and  gone.  He 
took  that  plaster  thing  off  Huldy's  arm,  says  she's  all  right 


134  QUIWY  ADAMS    SAWYER. 

now,  only  she  must  be  keerful,  not  do  any  heavy  liftin'  wrtH 
it  till  it  gets  good  and  strong.  He  said  it  would  be  some 
time  before  she  could  help  me  much  with  the  housework, 
so  I  am  going  to  get  a  girl  for  a  month  or  two.  I  heerd  your 
sister  got  home,  'Zeke.  They  do  say  she's  blind.  I  am 
awful  sorry,  'Zekiel.  Hope  she  will  get  better  of  it.  I  am 
coming  over  to  see  her  just  as  soon  as  I  get  me  my  girl. 
But  you  go  right  up,  there's  nobody  there  but  Huldy.  Mr. 
Sawyer  is  coming  after  the  nurse  to-morrow  morning,  and 
she  is  up  in  the  spare  room  trying  to  catch  up  with  her 
sleep.  We  told  her  there  was  no  use  in  setting  up  with 
Huldy,  but  she  said  she  had  her  orders  from  the  doctor, 
and  she  wouldn't  mind  a  single  thing  we  said.  But  we 
will  get  rid  on  her  to-morrow.  Now  you  go  right  up, 
'Zekiel;''  and  Mrs.  Mason  took  him  by  the  arm  and  saw 
him  on  his  way  up  the  front  stairs  before  she  returned  to 
her  work  in  the  kitchen. 

'Zekiel  went  upstairs  deliberately,  one  step  at  a  time. 
His  footfalls,  it  seemed  to  him,  must  be  heard  all  over  the 
house.  He  paused  before  Huldy's  door.  He  opened  it  a 
couple  of  inches,  when  the  thought  struck  him  that  he 
ought  to  knock.  He  started  to  close  the  door  and  do  so, 
\vhen  he  heard  a  faint  voice  say,  "Come  in,  'Zekiel."  So 
he  was  still  'Zekiel  to  Huldy.  He  opened  the  door  and 
walked  bravely  into  the  room,  but  his  bravery  forsook  him 
when  he  had  taken  a  few  steps.  He  had  expected  to  find 
•her  in  bed,  as  she  had  been  every  day  'before  when  he  had 
called.  But  there  she  stood  before  him,  the  same  Huldy 
as  of  old.  Not  exactly  the  same,  however,  for  her  cheeks 
had  lost  much  of  their  rosy  tint  and  there  was  a  pensive 
look  to  the  face  that  was  new  to  it,  which  'Zekiel  saw,  but 
could  not  understand. 

There  were  two  chairs  close  together  before  the  fire. 
She  sat  down  in  the  left-hand  one  and  motioned  'Zekiel  to 
the  other,  which  he  took. 


THE   COUIIT1N'.  135 

"I  thought  I  would  find  you  abed,"  said  'Zekiel.  "I 
didr.'t  know  you  were  up." 

"Qh,  yes,"  said  Huldy.  "I  got  up  and  dressed  as  soon 
as  the  doctor  took  the  jacket,  that's  what  he  called  it,  off  my 
arm.  I  felt  so  much  better  I  couldn't  stay  in  bed  any 
longer." 

"Well,"  said  'Zekiel,  "when  the  schoolmaster  used  to 
tell  me  to  take  my  jacket  off  I  didn't  feel  near  as  well  as  I 
did  before,"  and  then  they  both  laughed  heartily. 

They  sat  silent  for  a  few  moments,  when  Huldy,  turning 
her  face  with  that  sad  look  towards  him,  said,  "There  is 
something  on  my  mind,  'Zekiel,  that  I  wish  I  could  take 
off  as  easily  as  the  doctor  did  that  jacket.'' 

"Oh,  nonsense,"  cried  'Zekiel;  "why  should  you  have 
anything  on  your  mind?  You  are  a  little  bit  low  spirited 
because  you  have  been  cooped  up  in  bed  so  long." 

"No,"  said  Huldy,  "that  isn't  it.  I  have  wronged  a  per 
son  and  I  am  afraid  that  person  will  never  fully  forgive  me. 
I  am  real  sorry  for  what  I  have  done,  and  I  am  going  to  tell 
the  person  and  ask  for  pardon." 

"Well,"  said  'Zekiel,  "the  person  must  be  pretty  mean 
spirited  if  he  or  she  don't  forgive  you  after  you  say  you  are 
sorry,  'specially  if  you  promise  not  to  do  it  again." 

"Oh,  I  shall  never  do  it  again,"  said  Huldy.  "Once  has 
nearly  killed  me.  I  suffered  ten  times  more  from  that  than 
from  my  broken  arm." 

"Well,"  said  'Zekiel,  "if  that  person  don't  forgive  you  I 
don't  want  anything  more  to  do  with  him." 

"Let  me  tell  you  a  little  story,"  said  Huldy.  "A  little 
boy  and  girl  whose  homes  were  not  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
apart  grew  up  together  in  a  little  country  town.  As  chil 
dren  they  loved  each  other,  and  as  they  grew  older  that 
love  really  grew  stronger,  though  not  so  plainly  shown  or 
spoken.  Everybody  thought  that  one  day  they  would  be 


136  QUINCT  ADAMS    SAWYER. 

married,  though  he  had  never  asked  her  to  be  his  wrfe. 
Did  you  ever  hear  of  anything"  like  that,  'Zekiel?'' 

"Well,"  remarked  'Zekiel,  "I  have  in  my  mind  two  per 
sons  whose  relations  were  pretty  similar  up  to  a  certain 
2oint." 

"Yes,"  said  Huldy,  eagerly,  "and  that  point  was  reached 
when  a  young  man  from  the  city,  whose  father  was  known 
to  be  very  wealthy,  came  to  board  in  her  father's  house." 
Huldy  looked  at  'Zekiel  inquiringly. 

"Yes,  I've  heard  of  something  like  that,"  said  'Zekiel. 

"For  a  time,"  continued  Huldy,  "the  young  girl  was 
unfaithful  to  her  old-time  lover.  She  thought  the  young 
man  from  the  city  was  learning  to  love  her  because  he  was 
polite  and  attentive  to  her.  She  thought  it  would  be  nice 
to  be  rich  and  go  to  the  city  to  live,  but  the  young  man 
soon  undeceived  her.  He  took  her  to  ride  one  day,  and  on 
their  way  home  he  told  her  he  was  going  to  leave  her 
father's  house.  She  wished  to  know  the  reason,  but  he 
would  not  give  it.  She  divined  it,  however,  and  in  her  agi 
tation  lost  control  of  the  horse  she  was  driving.  The 
buggy  was  overturned  and  her  arm  was  broken."  She 
looked  up  at  'Zekiel.  His  face  was  grave,  but  he  nodded 
for  her  to  go  on.  "She  stayed  in  bed  for  three  weeks,  and 
during  that  time  she  lived  over  her  short  life  a  hundred, 
yes,  a  thousand,  times;  she  knew  that  her  fancy  had  been 
but  a  fleeting  dream.  A  suspicion  that  perhaps  the  young 
man  had  imagined  her  feelings  towards  him  was  what  had 
nearly  broken  her  heart.  Supposing  you  were  the  man,1 
'Zekiel,  and  I  were  the  woman  in  this  little  story,  could 
you  forgive  me  if  I  said  I  was  sorry  and  would  never  do  it 
again?" 

"I  forgave  you,  Huldy,  when  I  let  him  come  to  board  in 
my  house.  He  told  Uncle  Ike  why  he  left  your  father's 
house.  The  folks  were  talking  about  you  and  him,  but  he 
never  imagined  that  you  were  in  love  with  him,  or  thought 


THE    COUKTIN'.  137 

any  more  about  him  than  you  would  have  of  any  passing 
acquaintance." 

"I  am  so  glad,"  cried  Huldy;  "you  have  done  me  more 
good  than  the  doctor,  'Zekiel;"  and  she  dropped  her  head 
upon  his  shoulder. 

'Zekiel  was  struck  with  an  idea.  "If  I  am  a  better  doctor 
than  the  other  one,  Huldy,  I  ought  to  get  a  bigger  price 
for  my  services  than  he  does.'' 

Huldy  looked  up.  "What  will  your  price  be,  Dr.  Pet- 
tengill?" 

"I  think  I  shall  charge,"  said  'Zekiel,  "one  'hundred  thou 
sand  dollars,  and  as  I  know  you  haven't  got  the  money  and 
can't  raise  it,  I  think  I  shall  have  to  hold  you  for  security." 

He  -suited  the  action  to  the  word,  and  they  sat  there  so 
long,  happy  in  their  mutual  love,  that  the  Deacon  and  his 
wife  came  uostairs  and  entered  the  room  quietly.  When 
they  saw  the  picture  before  them,  thrown  into  prominence 
by  the  light  of  the  fire,  the  Deacon  said  in  a  low  tone  to 
his  wife,  "I  have  thought  so  all  along." 

And  as  Mrs.  Mason  looked  up  into  her  husband's 
she  said,  "I  am  glad  on't." 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

JIM  SAWYER'S  FUNERAL. 

QUINCY  obeyed  the  call  to  supper  with  alacrity.  Pos 
sibly  he  thought  he  would  be  the  first  on<e  at  the 
table,  but  Cobb's  twins  were  in  their  places  when  he  en 
tered  the  room.  'Zekiel  came  in  next,  and  Quincy's  quick 
eye  discerned  that  there  was  a  look  of  quiet  contentment 
on  'his  face  which  had  not  been  there  before. 

Uncle  Ike  came  down  with  Alice,  and  for  the  first  time 
since  her  arrival  she  sat  beside  Ouincy.  For  some  reason 
or  other  the  conversation  lagged.  Ouincy  surmised  that 
'Zekiel  was  too  happy  with  his  own  thoughts  to  wish  to 
talk,  and  Uncle  Ike  rarely  conversed  during  meal  time. 
He  said  he  could  not  talk  and  eat  at  the  same  time,  and  as 
meal  time  was  for  eating  he  proposed  to  give  his  attention 
to  that  exclusively. 

Quincy  ventured  a  few  commonplace  remarks  to  Alice, 
to  which  she  replied  pleasantly.  He  was  at  a  loss  for  a 
topic,  when  he  remembered  his  last  visit  to  Mrs.  Putnam's 
and  recalled  his  promise  to  bring  Alice  to  see  her  some 
day. 

He  spoke  of  visiting  Mrs.  Putnam,  and  Alice's  face 
immediately  shone  with  pleasure.  "Dear  old  Aunt  Heppy! 
I  must  go  and  see  her  as  soon  as  I  can." 

"If  you  can  find  no  better  escort  than  myself,  I  trust  you 
will  command  my  services,  unless,"  said  Quincy,  "your 
brother  thinks  it  unsafe  to  trust  you  with  me." 

"He  won't  be  likely  to  let  you  drive,  Alice,"  responded 
'Zekiel  dryly,  "so  I  don't  think  there  will  be  any  danger." 

Quincy  knew  by  this  remark  that  Huldy  had  told  'Zekiel 


JIM  SAWYER'S  FUNERAL.  138 

the  facts  of  the  case,  but  he  maintained  his  composure  and 
said,  "Any  time  you  wish  to  go,  Miss  Pettengill,  I  am  at 
your  service." 

As  they  arose  from  the  table  'Zekiel  said  to  his  uncle,  "I 
am  coming  up  in  your  room  to-night,  Uncle  Ike,  to  see 

you." 

Ouincy  knew  by  this  that  the  pleasant  chat  in  the  dining- 
room  beside  the  fireplace  was  to  be  omitted  that  evening,  so 
he  went  up  to  his  own  room  and  read  until  it  was  time  to 
retire. 

Quincy  was  up  early  next  morning.  He  knew. his  uncle 
could  not  live  long,  'but  he  wished  to  take  the  trained  nurse 
to  Eastborough  Centre,  so  he  rnight  have  the  best  of  care 
during  the  short  time  left  to  him  on  earth. 

He  found  'Zekiel  at  the  breakfast  table,  and  beyond  a 
few  commonplace  remarks  the  meal  was  eaten  in  silence. 

"Are  you  going  to  Eastborough  Centre  to-day,  Mr. 
Sawyer?"  asked  'Zekiel. 

"Yes,"  said  Quincy;  "I  intended  to  go  just  as  soon  as 
one  of  the  boys  could  get  the  team  ready." 

"I'll  speak  to  Jim  about  it,"  said  'Zekiel.  "If  you  will 
step  into  the  parlor,  Mr.  Sawyer,  I  would  like  to  have  a 
few  minutes'  talk  with  you." 

'Zekiel  went  out  into  the  barn  and  Ouincy  walked  into 
the  parlor,  where  he  found  a  bright  fire  burning  on  the 
hearth.  He  threw  himself  into  an  easy-chair  and  awaited 
'Zekiel's  return.  What  was  up?  Could  'Zekiel  and  Huldy 
have  parted,  and  was  'Zekiel  glad  of  it?  Quincy,  as  the 
saying  is,  passed  a  "bad  quarter  of  an  hour,"  for  he  did  not 
like  suspense.  The  truth,  however  bitter  or  unpalatable, 
was  better  than  uncertainty. 

'Zekiel  entered  the  room  and  took  a  seat  opposite  to 
Quincy.  He  bent  forward  and  placed  his  hands  upon  his 
knees. 

"Mr.  Sawyer,"  said  he,  "I  am  a  man  of  few  words,  so  I 


140  QUINCY   ADAMS    SAWYEK. 

will  come  right  to  the  point.  Huldy  Mason  and  me  are 
engaged  to  be  married." 

Quincy  was  equal  to  the  occasion.  He  arose,  stepped 
forward,  and  extended  his  hand.  'Zekiel  rose  also  and 
grasped  it  unhesitatingly.  Quincy  said,  "Accept  my  most 
sincere  congratulations,  Mr.  Pettengill.  I  have  known  Miss 
Mason  but  a  short  time,  but  any  man  ought  to  be  proud  of 
her  and  happy  in  her  love.'' 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Sawyer,''  said  'Zekiel;  "I  agree  with 
you  in  both  the  particulars  you've  mentioned,  but  both  of 
us  have  what  we  consider  good  reasons  for  not  having  our 
engagement  known  in  the  village  just  at  present,  and  to 
keep  it  a  secret  we  need  the  assistance  of  a  mutual  friend." 

"If  I  might  aspire  to  that  honor,"  said  Quincy,  "my  time 
and  services  are  at  your  disposal." 

"That's  what  I  told  Huldy,"  said  'Zekiel,  "but  she  was 
afraid  that  you  would  be  vexed  at  what  the  gossips  said 
about  you  and  her;  she's  mad  as  a  hornet  herself,  and  she 
wants  to  teach  them  a  lesson." 

"Personally,''  said  Quincy,  "I  don't  care  what  the  gos 
sips  say,  but  I  was  both  sorry  and  indignant  that  they 
should  have  referred  to  Miss  Mason  in  the  way  they  did." 

"Well,"  said  'Zekiel,  "we  have  hatched  up  a  sort  of  a 
plot,  and  if  you  will  help  us,  all  three  of  us  will  have  some 
fun  out  of  it." 

"Well,''  inquired  Quincy,  "what's  my  share  in  the  fun?" 

"It's  this,"  said  'Zekiel,  "you  know  you  used  to  take 
Huldy  out  to  ride  with  you.  To  help  out  our  plan,  would 
you  be  willing  to  do  it  again?" 

"Certainly,"  replied  Quincy.  "Miss  Mason  has  been 
confined  to  her  room  so  long  I  think  she  ought  to  have 
some  fresh  air." 

"That's  true,"  remarked  'Zekiel;  "she's  lost  considerable 
flesh  staying  in  so  long;  but  if  I  took  her  out  to  ride  they 
would  jump  at  conclusions  right  off  and  say  Huldy  and 


JIM  SAWYER'S  FUNERAL.  141 

'Zekiel  nave  made  up,  and  they  will  guess  we  are  going  to 
make  a  match  of  it.  Then,  again,"  'Zekiel  continued, 
"Huldy  says  she's  bound  to  have  it  out  with  the  one  that 
started  the  stories.  There's  no  use  mincing  matters  be 
tween  us,  because  you  know  as  well  as  I  do  who  is  at  the 
bottom  of  all  this  tittle-tattle.  Since  I  refused  to  join  hands 
with  him  to  try  and  drive  you  out  of  town,  he  has  talked 
about  'me  almost  as  bad  as  he  has  about  you.  'So.'  says 
Huldy  to  me,  'you  know  he  is  the  only  teacher  of  music 
in  Eastborough.  I  want  to  take  music  lessons  very  much, 
and  so  I  have  got  to  have  him  for  teacher.'  Then  she  said, 
'  'Zekiel,  you  leave  the  rest  of  it  to  me,  and  we  will  all  have 
some  fun  before  we  get  through.'  I  expect  she  is  going 
to  flirt  with  ham,  for  it  comes  as  nat'ral  to  her  as  it  does 
to  most  women." 

Quincy  did  not  think  it  polite  to  assent  to  this  last 
remark  and  changed  the  subject  by  remarking,  "This  is  a 
beautiful  day.  I  am  going  to  drive  the  nurse  over  to  East- 
borough  ;  perhaps  Miss  Mason  would  like  to  accompany  us. 
That  is,  if  you  can  trust  her  with  me." 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,"  said  'Zekiel;  "Huldy  had  to  pay 
pretty  dearly  for  getting  mad  at  the  wrong  time.  Besides, 
I  don't  think  she  will  want  to  drive  horse  again  for  a 
while." 

Mandy  rapped  on  the  parlor  door  and  called  out  that  the 
team  was  ready. 

Quincy  assured  'Zekiel  that  he  understood  his  part  and 
would  play  it  to  the  best  of  his  ability. 

When  he  arrived  at  Deacon  Mason's  house  'he  found  the 
latter  just  coming  out  of  the  front  gate.  As  Quincy 
leaped  from  the  team  the  Deacon  came  forward  and  shook 
hands  with  him.  "You  are  just  the  man  I  want  to  see,"  he 
remarked.  "I've  paid  our  doctor,  but  I  want  to  know  what 
the  bill  is  for  the  Boston  doctor  and  the  nurse." 

"I  don't  know  yet,''  said  Quincy,  "but  there  will  be  noth- 


142  QUINCY  ADAMS  SAWYEK. 

ing  for  you  to  pay.    It  is  my  duty  to  settle  that  bill  myself." 

"No,"  said  the  Deacon  firmly.  ''She  is  my  daughter, 
and  it  is  my  place  as  her  father  to  pay  such  bills,  until  she 
has  a  husband  to  pay  them  for  her." 

Qttincy  said,  "Deacon  Mason,  when  I  took  your  daugh 
ter  out  to  ride  it  was  my  duty  to  return  her  to  her  home 
without  injury.  I  did  not  do  so,  and  I  trust  that  you  will 
allow  me  to  atone  for  my  neglect.  Remember,  sir,  you 
have  lost  her  services  for  several  weeks,  and  the  board  of 
the  nurse  has  been  an  expense  J:o  you." 

"I  prefer,"  rejoined  the  Deacon,  "that  the  bill  should 
be  sent  to  me." 

"Well,"  said  Quincy,  to  close  the  discussion,  "I  will  ask 
him  to  send  you  one;"  mentally  resolving,  when  it  was 
sent,  it  would  be  a  receipted  one. 

Quincy  received  a  hearty  welcome  from  Mrs.  Mason, 
who  said  the  nurse  had  her  things  packed  and  was  all  ready 
to  go.  He  then  told  Mrs.  Mason  that  he  had  a  message 
for  Miss  Mason  from  Mr.  'Zekiel  Pettengill,  and  Mrs. 
Mason  said  she  would  send  Huldy  to  'the  parlor  at  once. 
Huldy  greeted  Quincy  with  a  happy  face  and  without  any 
show  of  confusion. 

"I  had  a  long  talk  with  Mr.  Pettengill,"  said  Quincy, 
"and  he  has  induced  me  to  become  a  conspirator.  The  first 
act  in  our  comedy  is  to  ask  you  if  you  will  ride  over  to 
Eastborough  Centre  this  morning  with  the  nurse  and  my 
self,  and  get  a  little  fresh  air?" 

"I  should  be  delighted,"  said  Huldy,  "if  you  can  wait 
long  enough  for  me  to  dress. " 

"That's  what  I  came  early  for,"  remarked  Quincy. 
"How  long  will  it  take  you?" 

"Fifteen  minutes,"  said  Huldy. 

"It  is  now  half-past  seven,"  remarked  Quincy,  looking 
at  his  watch.  "You  mean  you  will  be  ready  by  quarter 
of  nine?" 


JIM  SAWYER'S    FUNERAL.  143 

"No,"  said  Huldy,  with  a  flash  of  her  eyes,  "I  am  no  city 
lady.  I  am  a  plain,  country  girl,  and  I  mean  just  one-quar 
ter  of  an  hour.  You  can  time  me,  Mr.  Sawyer;"  and  she 
ran  gayly  out  of  the  room. 

Quincy  looked  out  of  the  window  and  saw  that  Hiram 
had  put  the  nurse's  heavy  valise  on  the  front  seat  of  the 
carryall.  The  nurse  herself  was  standing  by  the  side  of 
the  team,  evidently  uncertain  which  seat  to  take.  Quincy 
was  quickly  at  her  side. 

"You  can  sit  in  here,  Miss  Miller,"  .said  Quincy,  point 
ing  to  one  of  the  rear  seats;  and  when  she  was  seated 
Quincy  told  Hiram  to  put  the  valise  on  the  seat  beside  her. 
He  had  no  idea  of  having  Huldy  take  a  back  seat. 

True  to  her  promise,  Huldy  made  her  toilet  in  the 
appointed  time,  and  taking  her  seat  beside  Quincy,  he  took 
up  the  reins.  Turning  to  Hiram  he  asked,  "If  I  drive  by 
Hill's  grocery  and  take  the  road  to  the  left,  will  it  bring 
me  round  to  the  main  road  to  Eastborough  Centre  again?'' 

"Yaas,"  said  Hiram,  "you  take  the  road  where  Mis' 
Hawkins's  boardin'  house  is  on  the  corner.  You  remem 
ber  that  big  yellow  house.  You  know  I  told  you  Mandy's 
mother  kept  it." 

"All  right,"  said  Quincy,  and  off  they  went. 

Quincy  gave  a  side  glance  at  Huldy.  He  discovered 
she  was  throwing  a  side  glance  at  him.  They  both  smiled, 
but  said  nothing.  He  drove  around  the  big  tree  that  stood 
in  the  centre  of  the  square  in  front  of  the  grocery,  which 
brought  the  team  quite  close  to  the  store  platform.  No 
one  was  in  sight,  but  just  as  he  reached  Mrs.  Hawkins's 
boarding  house  the  door  opened  and  Obadiah  Strout  came 
out.  Huldy  placed  her  hand  on  Quincy's  arm. 

"Please  hold  up  a  minute,  Mr.  Sawyer." 

Quincy  brought  the  horse  to  a  standstill  with  a  jerk  and 
looked  straight  ahead. 

"Ah,  good  morning,   Mr.  Strout,"  said   Huldy.     "Did 


144  QUmCY  ADAMS  SAWYER. 

you  get  the  letter  I  sent  up  by  Hiram  last  evening  about 
my  taking  music  lessons?-" 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Strout,  "and  I  was  coming  down  this 
morning  to  settle  on  the  best  time  for  you  taking  them." 

"Could  you  come  to-morrow  afternoon  from  two  to 
three?"  asked  Huldy. 

Strout  took  a  well-worn  memorandum  book  from  his 
pocket  and  consulted  it.  "Three  to  four  would  be  the  best 
I  could  do,"  said  he,  "for  I  have  a  lesson  from  half-past  one 
to  half-past  two." 

"That  will  do  just  as  well/'  replied  Huldy.  "Three  to 
four  to-morrow  afternoon.  Isn't  this  a  beautiful  day,  Mr. 
Strout?  I  am  taking  a  little  drive  for  my  health;"  and 
she  nodded  smilingly  to  Strout,  who  had  recognized 
Quincy  as  her  companion. 

"That's  all,  Mr.  Sawyer,"  said  Huldy,  and  they  drove  on. 

"By  thunder,"  said  Strout,  "they  say  the  hair  of  a  dog 
is  good  for  his  bite.  Just  as  soon  as  she  got  well,  off  she 
goes  riding  again  with  the  same  feller  who  tipped  the 
team  over  and  broke  her  arm.  I  guess  'Zeke  Pettengill's 
chances  ain't  worth  much  now.  It  beats  all  how  'Zeke 
can  let  that  feller  'board  in  his  house,  but  I  suppose  he  does 
it  to  let  us  folks  see  that  he  don't  care.  Well,  Huldy  Mason 
is  a  bright  little  girl,  and  I  always  liked  her.  That  city 
chap  don't  mean  to  marry  her,  and  if  I  don't  make  the  best 
of  my  chances  when  I  get  to  teaching  her  music,  my  name 
ain't  Obadiah  Strout,  which  I  guess  it  is.''  And  he  walked 
across  the  square  to  Hill's  grocery  to  smoke  his  morning 
cigar. 

On  the  way  to  Eastborough  Centre  Quincy  wondered 
what  he  would  do  with  Huldy  when  he  arrived  there.  He 
did  not  care  to  take  her  to  the  Poorhouse,  .and  particularly 
he  did  not  wish  her  to  see  his  uncle.  Quincy  was  proud, 
but  he  was  also  sensible,  and  he  decided  upon  a  course  of 


JIM   SAWYER'S   FUNERAL.  14$ 

action  that  would  prevent  any  one  from  saying  that  his 
pride  had  made  him  do  a  foolish  act. 

As  they  neared  the  Poorhotise  Quincy  turned  to  Huldy 
and  said,  "The  Jim  Sawyer  who  has  been  at  the  Eastbor- 
ough  Poorhouse  for  the  last  five  years  is  my  father's 
/brother  and  my  uncle.  His  story  is  a  very  sad  one.  I  will 
•tell  it  to  you  some  day.  He  is  in  the  last  stages  of  con 
sumption,  and  I  am  taking  Miss  Miller  over  to  care  for 
him  while  he  lives." 

Huldy  nodded,  and  nothing  more  was  said  until  they 
reached  the  Poorhouse.  Quincy  jumped  out  and  called 
to  Sam,  who  was  close  at  hand,  to  hold  the  horse.  Sam 
looked  at  him  with  a.  peculiar  expression  that  Quincy  did 
not  stop  to  fathom,  but  running  up  the  short  flight  of  steps 
entered  the  room  that  served  as  the  office  for  the  Poor 
house.  Mr.  Waters  was  there  writing  at  his  desk.  He 
turned  as  Quincy  entered. 

"How  is  my  uncle?"  asked  Quincy. 

"He  is  better  off  than  us  poor  mortals,"  replied  Mr. 
Waters  with  a  long-drawn  countenance. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  asked  Quincy.    "Is  he  dead?" 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Waters,  "he  died  about  four  o'clock  this 
mornin'.  Sam  sat  up  with  him  till  midnight,  and  I  stayed 
with  him  the  balance  of  the  time." 

"I  am  so  sorry  I  was  not  here/'  said  Quincy. 

"It  wouldn't  have  done  any  good,"  said  Waters.  "He 
didn't  know  what  was  going  on  after  two  o'clock,  and  you 
couldn't  have  been  of  any  use  if  you'd  been  here.  If  't  had 
been  daytime  I  should  have  sent  over  for  you.  He  only 
spoke  once  after  I  went  upstairs  and  that  was  to  say  that 
you  would  see  to  buryin'  him." 

"Yes,"  said  Quincy,  "I  will  take  charge  of  the  remains." 

"Well,"  remarked  Mr.  Waters,  "I  called  in  the  town 
undertaker  and  he  has  got  him  all  ready." 


146  QUINCY   ADAMS    SAWYEK. 

"When  does  the  next  train  leave  for  Boston?"  asked 
Quincy,  taking  out  his  watch. 

"In  just  twenty  minutes,"  Waters  replied,  looking  up  at 
the  clock. 

"I  will  be  'back  from.  Boston  at  the  earliest  possible 
moment,"  said  Quincy;  and  before  the  astonished  Waters 
could  recover  himself,  the  young  man  had  left  the  room. 

Quincy  jumped  into  the  team,  grasped  the  reins,  and 
started  off  at  full  speed  for  Eastborough  Centre. 

"My  uncle  died  this  morning,"  said  he,  turning  to 
Huldy,  "I  must  go  to  Boston  at  once  to  make  the  neces 
sary  arrangements  for  his  funeral.  He  is  to  be  buried  at 
Amesbury  with  his  wife  and  children,  so  please  get  word 
to  Mr.  Pettengill  that  I  shall  not  be  home  for  several  days. 
I  will  get  some  one  at  the  hotel  to  drive  you  home,  Miss 
Mason.  Only  stern  necessity  compels  me  to  leave  you  in 
this  way." 

"You  will  do  nothing  of  the  sort/'  said  Huldy.  "I  am 
perfectly  confident  that  I  am  able  to  drive  this  team  home 
all  by  myself." 

"I  never  can  consent  to  it,"  said  Quincy.  "If  anything 
happened  to  you,  your  father  and — "  Huldy  glanced  at 
him.  "I  mean,"  said  Quincy,  "I  should  never  forgive  my 
self,  and  your  father  would  never  forgive  me.  Your  arm 
is  still  weak,  I  know." 

"My  arm  is  just  as  good  as  ever,"  said  Huldy.  "The 
doctor  told  me  it  wouldn't  break  in  that  place  again. 
Besides,  Mr.  Sawyer/'  she  said,  as  the  hotel  came  in  sight, 
"I  shall  drive  back  just  the  same  way  we  came,  and  there1 
are  no  hills  or  sharp  corners,  you  know."  She  laughed 
heartily  and  added,  "I  shall  enjoy  it  very  much,  it  is  part 
of  the  comedy." 

"Well,"  said  Quincy  in  an  undertone,  "rebellious  young- 
woman,  do  as  you  will,  and  bear  the  consequences.  I  will 
turn  the  team  around  so  that  you  won't  have  any  trouble, 


JIM  SAWYEE'S    FUNERAL.  14? 

and  Hiram  can  take  it  down  to  Mr.  Pettengill's  and  deliver 
my  message.  Good-by,"  and  he  shook  hands  with  her. 

"We  will  get  out  here,  Miss  Miller,"  said  he,  and  he 
helped  the  nurse  to  alight.  Grasping  the  heavy  valise,  he 
started  at  a  brisk  pace  for  the  station,  and  Miss  Miller  was 
obliged  to  run  in  order  to  keep  up  with  him.  They  boarded 
the  train  and  took  their  seats.  The  train  was  ahead  of 
time  and  waited  for  a  few  minutes  at  the  station. 

Quincy  did  not  know  as  he  sped  towards  Boston  on  his 
sad  errand  that  Miss  Lindy  Putnam  was  in  the  second  car 
behind  him,  bound  to  the  same  place.  Nor  did  he  know 
for  several  days  that  Abner  Stiles,  who  drove  her  to  the 
station,  had  seen  Huldy  driving  towards  Mason's  Corner. 
Nor  did  he  know  that  Strout  had  told  Abner  of  his  seeing 
Huldy  and  Sawyer  together.  Nor  did  he  know  that  Abner 
whipped  up  his  horse  in  a  vain  attempt  to  overtake  Huldy 
on  her  return  to  Mason's  Corner.  She,  too,  had  whipped 
up  her  horse  and  had  reached  home,  and  was  in  the  house, 
calling  for  Hiram,  just  as  Abner  turned  into  the  square  by 
Hill's  grocery. 

Quincy  made  the  necessary  purchases,  and  with  the  city 
undertaker  returned  to  Eastborough  Centre  by  the  noon 
train.  The  'body  was  placed  in  a  leaden  casket  and  Quincy 
and  the  undertaker  with  their  sad  burden  returned  to 
Boston  by  the  five  o'clock  express. 

His  mother  and  sisters  were  still  in  New  York,  but  he 
passed  the  evening  with  his  father,  who  approved  of  all 
he  had  done  and  what  he  proposed  doing. 

Quincy  went  to  Amesbury  and  purchased  a  small  lot  in 
the  cemetery.  After  a  day's  search  he  discovered  the  place 
of  burial  of  his  uncle's  wife  and  children.  They  were  dis 
interred,  and  the  four  bodies  were  placed  in  the  little  lot. 

On  his  return  to  Boston  he  made  arrangements  for  two 
plain  marble  stones  for  his  uncle  and  aunt,  and  two  small et 
ones  for  his  little  cousins,  whom  he  had  never  seen. 


148  QUIffCY  ADAMS  SAWYER. 

The  directions  that  he  left  with  the  monument  maker 
and  the  undertaker  at  Amesbury  were  followed  to  the  letter. 
If  one  should  pass  by  that  little  lot  he  would  see  on  one 
marble  slab  these  words: 

Eunice  Raymond  Sawyer, 

Aged  29  yrs.,  6  mos. 
On  the  little  slab  at  her  feet  the  simple  words : 

Mary,  Aged  4  yrs.,  2  mos. 
At  its  side  another  little  stone  bearing  only  these  words : 

Ray,  Aged  6  yrs.,  8  mos. 

Adhering  strictly  to  his  uncle's  request,  the  other  large 
.stone  bore  no  name,  but  on  it  were  engraved  these  words: 
In  Heaven  we  Know  our  Own. 


CHAPTER  XX, 

A    WET   DAY. 

'HEN  Quincy  alighted  from  the  train  at  Eastborough 
Centre,  after  attending  his  uncle's  funeral,  he  found 
the  rain  descending  in  torrents.  He  hired  a  closed  car 
riage  and  was  driven  to  Mason's  Corner,  arriving  there 
about  ten  o'clock.  He  had  taken  his  breakfast  in 
Boston. 

When  he  reached  the  Pettengill  house  he  saw  Hiram 
standing  at  the  barn  door.  Bidding  the  driver  stop,  he  got 
out  and  paid  his  score;  he  then  took  Hiram  by  the  arm 
and  led  him  into  the  barn.  When  he  'had  primed  the  latter 
with  a  good  cigar,  he  said,  "Now,  Hiram,  I've  been  away 
several  days  and  I  want  to  know  what  has  been  going  on. 
You  know  our  agreement  was  that  you  should  tell  me  the 
whole  truth  and  nothing  but  the  truth.  I  don't  want  you 
to  spare  my  feelings  nor  anybody  else's.  Do  you  under 
stand?"  said  he  to  Hiram.  Hiram  nodded.  "Then  go 
ahead,"  said  Quincy. 

"Well,  first,"  said  Hiram,  puffing  his  cigar  with  evident 
satisfaction,  "they  got  hold  of  the  point  that  Miss  Huldy 
drove  back  alone  from  Eastborough  Centre.  Abner  Stiles 
took  Lindy  Putnam  down  to  the  station  and  she  went  to 
Boston  on  the  same  train  that  you  did.  Abner  tried  to. 
catch  up  with  Huldy,  so  he  could  quiz  her,  but  s<he  whipped 
up  her  horse  and  got  away  from  him.'' 

"Smart  girl!"  interjected  Quincy. 

"You  can  just  bet,"  said  Hiram,  "there  ain't  a  smarter 
one  in  this  town,  though,  of  course,  I  think  Mandy  is  pretty 
smart,  too." 

"Mandy's  all  right,"  said  Quincy;  "go  ahead." 


150  QUIXCY   ADAMS    SAWYER. 

"Well,  secondly,  as  the  ministers  say,"  continued  Hiram, 
"Lindy  Putnam  told  Abner  when  he  drove  her  home  from 
the  station  that  night  that  the  copper  company  that  Mr, 
Sawyer  told  her  to  put  her  money  in  had  busted,  and  she'd 
lost  lots  of  money.  That's  gone  all  over  Mason's  Corner, 
and  if  Abner  told  Asa  Waters,  it's  all  over  Eastborough 
Centre  by  this  time." 

"The  whole  thing  is  a  lie/'  said  Ouincy  hotly;  "the  stock 
did  go  down,  but  my  father  told  me  yesterday  it  'had  rallied 
and  would  soon  advance  from  five  to  ten  points.  What's 
the  next  confounded  yarn?" 

"Well,  thirdly/'  continued  Kirani,  "of  course  everybody 
knows  Jim  Sawyer  was  your  uncle,  and  somebody  said — 
you  can  guess  who — that  it  would  look  better  if  you  would 
pay  up  his  back  board  instead  of  spending  so  much  money 
on  a  fancy  funeral  and  cheating  the  town  undertaker  out 
of  a  job." 

"I  paid  him  for  all  that  he  did/'  said  Quincy. 

"Yes,"  said  Hiram,  "but  this  is  how  it  is.  You  see  the 
undertaker  makes  a  contract  with  the  town  to  bury  all  the 
paupers  who  die  during  the  year  for  so  much  money.  They 
averaged  it  up  and  found  that  about  three  died  a  year,  so 
the  town  pays  the  undertaker  on  that  calculation;  but  this 
year,  you  see,  only  two  have  died,  and  there  ain't  another 
one  likely  to  die  before  town  meeting  day,  which  comes  the 
first  Monday  in  March,  so,  you  see  the  undertaker  gets  paid 
for  buryin'  your  uncle,  though  he  didn't  do  it,  and  some  one 
says — you  can  guess  who — that  he  is  going  to  bring  the 
matter  up  in  town  meeting." 

Ouincy  smothered  an  exclamation  and  bit  savagely  into 
his  cigar. 

"Anything  else?"  inquired  he.  "Have  they  abused  the 
ladies  as  well  as  me?" 

"No,"  said  Hiram;  "you  see  somebody — you  know  who 
— is  giving  Huldy  music  lessons  and  he  will  keep  quiet 


A  WET  DAY.  151 

aSout  her  anyway;  but  he  says  he  can't  understand  how 
'Zeke  Pcttengill  can  let  you  board  in  his  house  and  go  out 
riding  with  Huldy,  unless  things  is  up  between  'Zeke  and 
Huldy." 

"Well,  I  guess  that's  about  the  size  of  it,"  said  Quincy. 
"Now,  for  instance,  Hiram,  you  and  Mandy  are  good 
friends,  aren't  you?" 

"Yes,"  said  Hiram,  "after  we  get  over  our  little  difficul 
ties  we  are.'' 

"Well,"  said  Quincy,  "I  happen  to  know  that  'Zekiel  and 
Huldy  have  got  over  their  little  difficulties  and  they  are 
now  good  friends." 

"Been't  they  going  to  get  married?"  asked  Hiram. 

"Are  you  and  Mandy  going  to  get  married?"  asked 
Quincy. 

"Well,  we  haven't  got  so  far  along  as  to  set  the  day 
exactly,''  said  Hiram. 

"And  I  don't  believe  'Zekiel  and  Huldy  will  get  mar 
ried  any  sooner  than  you  and  Mandy  will,"  remarked 
Quincy.  "But  don't  say  a  word  about  this,  Hiram." 

"Mum's  the  word,"  replied  Hiram.  "I  am  no  speaker, 
but  I  hear  a  thing  or  two." 

"Now,  Hiram/'  said  Quincy,  "run  in  and  tell  Mandy  I'll 
be  in  to  lunch  as  usual,  and  then  come  back,  for  I  have 
something  more  to  say  to  you.'' 

Hiram  did  as  directed,  and  Quincy  sat  and  thought  the 
situation  over.  So  far  he  had  been  patient  and  he  had 
borne  the  slings  and  arrows  hurled  at  him  without  making 
any  return.  The  time  'had  come  to  change  all  that,  and 
from  now  on  he  would  take  up  arms  in  his  own  defence, 
and  even  attack  his  opponents. 

When  he  had  reached  this  conclusion,  Hiram  reappeared 
and  resumed  his  seat  on  the  chopping  block. 

Quincy  asked,  "In  what  regiment  did  the  singing-master 
go  to  war?" 


152  QUINCY  ADAMS    SAWYER. 

"The  same  one  as  I  did,  — th  Mass.,"  replied  Hiram. 

"Did  you  go  to  war?"  inquired  Quincy. 

"Well,  I  rather  guess,"  said  Hiram.  "I  went  out  as  a 
bugler;  he  was  a  corporal,  but  he  got  detailed  for  hospital 
duty,  and  we  left  him  behind  before  we  got  where  there 
was  any  fightin'." 

"Was  he  ever  wounded  in  battle?"  asked  Quincy 

"One  of  the  sick  fellers  in  the  hospital  gave  him  a  Hckin' 
one  day,  but  I  don't  suppose  you'd  call  that  a  battle," 
remarked  Hiram. 

"Well,  how  about  that  rigmarole  he  got  off  down  to  the 
grocery  store  that  morning?''  Quincy  interrogated. 

"Oh,  that  was  all  poppycock,"  said  Hiram.  "He  said 
that  just  to  get  even  with  you,  when  you  were  telling  about 
your  grandfathers  and  grandmothers." 

Quincy  laughed. 

"Oh,  I  see,"  said  he.  "Were  you  ever  wounded  in  battle, 
Hiram?" 

"Well,  I  was  shot  onct,  but  not  with  a  bullet." 

"What  was  it,"  said  Quincy,  "a  cannon  ball?" 

"No/'  said  Hiram.  "I  never  was  so  thunderin'  mad  in 
my  life.  When  I  go  to  regimental  reunions  the  boys  just 
joke  the  life  out  of  me.  You  see  I  was  blowin'  my  bugle 
for  a  charge,  and  the  boys  were  goin'  ahead  in  great  style, 
when  a  shell  struck  a  fence  about  twenty  feet  off.  The 
shell  didn't  hit  me,  but  a  piece  of  that  darned  fence  came 
whizzin'  along  and  struck  me  where  I  eat,  and  I  had  a 
dozen  stummick  aches  inside  o'  half  a  minute.  I  justj 
dropped  my  bugle  and  clapped  my  hands  on  my  stummick 
and  yelled  so  loud  that  the  boys  told  me  afterwards  that 
they  were  afraid  I  had  busted  my  bugle." 

Quincy  laid  back  in  his  chair  and  laughed  heartily. 

"What  do  the  boys  say  to  you  when  you  go  to  the 
reunions?"  he  asked. 

"They  tell  me  to  take  a  little  whiskey  for  my  stummick's 


A  WET  DAY.  153 

sake,"  said  Hiram,  "and  some  of  them  advise  me  to  put  on 
a  plaster,  and,  darn  'em,  they  always  take  me  and  toss  me 
in  a  blanket  ever}'  time  I  go,  and  onct  they  made  me  a 
present  of  a  bottleful  of  milk  with  a  piece  of  rubber  hose 
on  top  of  it.  They  said  it  would  be  good  for  me,  but  I 
chucked  it  at  the  feller's  head,  darn  him." 

Quincy  had  another  good  laugh.  Then  he  resumed  his 
usual  grave  expression  and  asked,  "What  town  offices  does 
the  singing-master  hold?" 

"Well,"  said  Hiram,  "he  is  fence  viewer  and  hog  reeve 
and  pound  keeper,  but  the  only  thing  he  gets  much  money 
out  of  is  tax  collector.  He  gets  two  per  cent  on  about 
thirty  thousand  dollars,  which  gives  him  about  ten  dollars  a 
week  on  an  average,  'cause  he  don't  get  no  pay  if  he  don't 
collect." 

"Did  he  get  a  big  vote  for  the  place?"  asked  Quincy. 

"No,"  said  Hiram,,  "he  just  got  in  by  the  skin  of  his 
teeth;  he  had  last  town  meetin'  two  more  votes  than  Wal 
lace  Stackpole,  and  Wallace  would  have  got  it  anyhow  if 
it  hadn't  been  for  an  unfortunate  accident.'' 

''How  was  that?"  asked  Quincy. 

"Well,  you  see,"  said  Hiram,  "two  or  three  days  before 
town  meetin'  Wallace  went  up  to  Boston.  He  got  an  oyster 
stew  for  dinner,  and  it  made  him  kinder  sick,  and  some 
one  gave  him  a  drink  of  brandy,  and  I  guess  they  gave  him 
a  pretty  good  dose,  for  when  he  got  to  Eastborough  Centre 
they  had  to  help  him  off  the  train,  'cause  his  legs  were 
kinder  weak.  Well,  'Bias  Smith,  who  lives  over  to  West 
Eastborough,  he  is  the  best  talker  we've  got  in  town 
meetin'.  He  took  up  the  cudgels  for  Wallace,  and  he  just 
lammed  into  those  mean  cusses  who'd  go  back  on  a  man 
'cause  he  was  sick  and  took  a  little  too  much  medicine. 
But  Abner  Stiles, — you  know  Abner, — well,  he's  the  next 
best  talker  to  'Bias  Smith, — he  stood  up  and  said  he  didr>"^ 
think  it  was  safe  to  trust  the  town's  money  to  a  man  who 


154  QUTNCY   ADAMS  SAWYER. 

couldn't  go  to  Boston  and  come  home  sober,  and  that 
pulled  over  some  of  the  fellers  who'd  agreed  to  vote  for 
Wallace." 

"Has  the  tax  collector  performed  his  duties  satisfac 
torily?"  asked  Quincy. 

"Well,"  said  Hiram,  "Wallace  Stackpole  told  me  the 
other  day  that  he  hadn't  got  in  more  -than  two-thirds  of 
last  year's  taxes.  He  said  the  selectmen  had  to  borrow 
money  and  there'd  be  a  row  at  the  next  town  meetin'." 

"Weil,"  said  Quincy,  rising,  "I  think  I  will  go  in  and 
get  ready  for  lunch.  I  had  a  very  early  breakfast  in 
Boston." 

"Did  you  have  oyster  stew?"  asked  Hiram. 

"No,"  replied  Quincy,  "people  who  live  in  Boston  never 
eat  oyster  stews  at  a  restaurant.  If  they  did  there  wouldn't 
be  enough  left  for  those  gentlemen  who  come  from  the 
country." 

He  opened  the  door  and  Hiram  grasped  his  arm. 

"By  Gosh!  I  forgot  one  thing,"  he  cried.  "You  remem 
ber  Tilly  James,  that  played  the  pianner  at  the  con 
cert?" 

"Yes,"  said  Quincy,  "and  she  was  a  fine  player,  too." 

"Well,"  said  Hiram,  "she's  engaged  to  Sam  Hill,  you 
know,  down  to  the  grocery  store.  That  ain't  all,  old  Ben 
James,  her  father,  he's  a  paralytic,  you  know,  and  pretty 
well  fixed  for  this  world's  goods,  and  he  wants  Benoni  to 
sell  out  his  grocery  when  Tilly  gets  married  and  come  over 
and  run  the  farm,  which  is  the  biggest  one  in  the  town,  and 
I  heerd  Abner  Stiles  say  to  'Manuel  Howe,  that  he  reck 
oned  he — you  know  who  I  mean — would  get  some  fellers 
to  back  him  up  and  he'd  buy  out  the  grocery  and  get 
'p'inted  postmaster.  I  guess  that's  all ;"  and  Hiram  started 
off  towards  Deacon  Mason's. 

Quincy  went  to  his  room  and  prepared  for  the  noonday 
meal.  While  doing  so  he  mentally  resolved  that  the  singing- 


A  WET  DAY.  155 

master  would  not  be  the  next  tax  collector  if  he  could  pre 
vent  it;  he  also  resolved  that  the  same  party  would  not  get 
the  grocery  store,  if  he  had  money  enough  to  outbid  him; 
and  lastly  he  felt  sure  that  he  had  influence  enough  to 
prevent  his  being  appointed  postmaster. 

Quincy  met  Ezekiel  at  lunch.  He  told  Quincy  that 
everything  was  working  smoothly;  that  the  singing-master 
evidently  thought  he  had  the  field  all  to  himself.  He  said 
Huldy  and  Alice  were  old  friends,  and  Huldy  was  coming 
over  twice  a  week  to  see  Alice,  and  so  he  shouldn't  go 
up  to  Deacon  Mason's  very  often. 

"Where  is  Miss  Pettengill?"  said  Quincy. 

"Well,"  replied  Ezekiel,  "she  isn't  used  to  heavy  dinners 
at  noon,  so  she  had  a  lunch  up  in  her  room.  I  am  going 
over  to  West  Eastborough  this  afternoon  with  the  boys  to 
see  some  cows  that  'Bias  Smith  has  got  to  sell.  The  sun 
is  coming  out  and  I  guess  it  will  be  pleasant  the  rest  of  the 
day." 

"  'Bias  Smith?"  asked  Quincy. 

"His  name  is  Tobias,"  said  Ezekiel,  "but  everybody  calls 
him  'Bias." 

"I  have  heard  of  him,"  said  Quincy.  "You  just  mention 
my  name  to  him,  Mr.  Pettengill,  and  say  I  am  coming  over 
some  day  with  Mr.  Stackpole  to  see  him." 

'Zekiel  smiled.  "Going  to  take  a  hand  yourself?'*  asked 
he. 

"Yes,"  said  Quincy,  "the  other  fellow  has  been  playing 
tricks  w' ith  the  pack  so  long  that  I  think  I  shall  throw  downi 
a  card  or  two  myself,  and  I  may  trump  his  next  lead." 

"By  the  way/'  said  'Zekiel,  "while  you  were  away  Uncle 
Ike  had  our  piano  tuned  and  fixed  up.  It  hasn't  been 
played  since  Alice  went  to  Boston  five  years  ago.  But  the 
tuner  who  came  from  Boston  said  it  was  just  as  good  as 
ever.  So  if  you  hear  any  noise  underneath  you  this  after 
noon  you  will  know  what  it  means.'' 


156  QUINCY  ADAMS   SAWYER. 

"Music  never  troubles  me,"  said  Quincy,  "I  play  and 
sing  myself.'' 

"Well,  I  hope  you  and  Alice  will  have  a  good  time  with 
the  piano,"  remarked  'Zekiel  as  he  left  the  room. 

Quincy  went  back  to  his  room  and  wrote  a  letter  to  a 
friend  in  Boston,  asking  him  to  get  a  certified  copy  of  the 
war  record  of  Obadiah  Strout,  Corporal  — th  Miass.  Vol 
unteers,  and  send  it  to  him  at  Eastborough  Centre  as  soon 
as  possible.  It  was  many  days  before  that  letter  reached 
its  destination. 

He  then  sat  down  in  his  favorite  armchair  and  began 
thinking  out  the  details  of  his  aggressive  campaign  against 
the  singing-master.  He  had  disposed  of  his  enemy  in  half 
a  dozen  pitched  battles,  when  the  sound  of  the  piano  fell 
upon  his  ear. 

She  was  playing.  He  hoped  she  was  a  good  musician, 
for  his  taste  in  that  art  was  critical.  He  had  studied  the 
best,  and  he  knew  it  when  he  heard  it  sung  or  played.  The 
piano  was  a  good  one,  its  tone  was  full  and  melodious,  and 
it  was  in  perfect  tune. 

He  listened  intently.  He  looked  and  saw  that  he  had 
unintentionally  left  the  door  of  his  room  ajar.  The  parlor 
door,  too,  must  be  open  partly,  or  he  could  not  have  heard 
so  plainly.  What  was  that  she  was  playing?  Ah!  Men 
delssohn.  Those  "Songs  Without  Words"  were  as  familiar 
to  him  as  the  alphabet.  Now  it  is  Beethoven,  that  beautiful 
work,  "The  Moonlight  Sonata,"  she  was  evidently  trying 
to  recall  her  favorites  to  mind,  for  of  course  she  could  not 
be  playing  by  note.  Then  she  strayed  into  a  "valse"  by 
Chopin,  and  followed  it  with  a  dashing  galop  by  some 
unknown  composer.  "She  is  a  classical  musician,"  said 
Quincy  to  himself,  as  the  first  bars  of  a  Rhapsodic  Hon- 
groise  by  Liszt  fell  upon  his  ear.  "I  hope  she  knows  some 
of  the  old  English  ballads  and  the  best  of  the  popular 
songs/'  thought  Quincy. 


A  WET  DAY.  157 

As  if  in  answer  to  his  wish  she  played  that  sterling  old 
song,  "  'Tis  but  a  Little  Faded  Flower,"  and  Quincy  lis 
tened  with  pleasure  to  the  pure,  sweet,  soprano  voice  that 
rang  out  full  and  strong  and  seemed  to  reach  and  permeate 
every  nook  and  corner  in  the  old  homestead. 

Quincy  could  stand  it  no  longer.  He  stepped  quietly 
to  his  door,  opened  it  wide,  and  listened  with  delight  to  the 
closing  lines  of  the  song. 

Then  she  sang  that  song  that  thrilled  the  hearts  of  thou 
sands  of  English  soldiers  in  the  Crimea  on  the  eve  of  the 
battle  of  Inkermann,  "Annie  Laurie,''  and  it  was  with  dif 
ficulty  that  Quincy  refrained  from  joining  in  the  chorus. 
Surely  Annie  Laurie  could  have  been  no  purer,  no  sweeter, 
no  more  beautiful,  than  Alice  Pettengill;  and  Quincy  felt 
that  he  could  do  and  die  for  the  girl  who  was  singing  in  the 
parlor,  as  truly  as  would  have  the  discarded  suitor  who 
wrote  the  immortal  song. 

But  Quincy  was  destined  to  be  still  more  astonished. 
Alice  played  a  short  prelude  that  seemed  familiar  to  him, 
and  then  her  voice  rang  out  the  words  of  that  beautiful 
duet  that  Quincy  had  sung  with  Lindy  Putnam  at  the 
singing-master's  concert.  Yes,  it  was  Jewell's  "Over  the 
Bridge."  This  was  too  much  for  Quincy.  He  went  quietly 
down  the  stairs  and  looked  in  at  the  parlor  door,  which 
was  wide  open.  Alice  was  seated  at  the  piano,  and  again 
the  sun,  in  its  westward  downward  course,  shone  in  at  the 
\vindo\v,  and  lighted  up  her  crown  of  golden  hair.  This- 
time  she  had  reversed  the  colors  which  she  evidently  knew 
became  her  so  well,  and  wore  a  dress  of  light  pink,  while 
a  light  blue  knitted  shawl,  similar  to  its  pink  companion, 
lay  upon  the  chair  beside  her. 

When  she  reached  the  duet  Quincy  did  not  attempt  to 
control  himself  any  further,  but  joined  in  with  her,  and 
they  sang  the  piece  together  to  the  end. 


158  QUINCY  ADAMS  SAWYER, 

Alice  turned  upon  the  piano  stool,  faced  the  door  and 
clapped  her  hands. 

'That  was  capital,  Mr.  Sawyer.  I  didn't  know  that  you 
sang  so  well.  In  fact,  I  didn't  know  that  you  sang  at  all." 

"How  did  you  know  it  was  I?5'  said  Quincy,  as  he  ad 
vanced  towards  her.  "It  is  a  little  cool  here,  Miss  Petten- 
gill.  Allow  me  to  place  your  shawl  about  you;"  and,  suit 
ing  the  action  to  the  word,  he  put  it  gently  over  her  shoul 
ders. 

"Yes,"  said  Alice,  "I  put  it  on  when  I  first  came  down. 
It  interfered  with  my  playing  and  I  threw  it  into  the  chair." 

"May  I  take  the  chair,  now  that  it  is  unoccupied?"  he 
asked. 

"Yes,"  said  Alice,  "if  you  will  give  me  your  word  of 
honor  that  you  did  not  try  to  make  me  think  i:t  was  cold 
here,  so  that  you  could  get  the  chair." 

Quincy  replied  with  a  laugh,  "If  I  did  my  reward  is  a 
great  return  for  my  power  of  invention,  but  I  assure  ^'ou 
I  was  thinking  of  your  health  and  not  of  the  chair,  when 
I  tendered  my  services." 

"You  are  an  adept  in  sweet  speeches,  Mr.  Sawyer.  You 
city  young  men  all  are;  but  our  country  youth,  who  are 
just  as  true  and  honest,  are  at  a  great  disadvantage,  be 
cause  they  cannot  isay  what  they  think  in  so  pleasing  a 
way." 

"I  hope  you  do  not  think  I  am  insincere,"  remarked 
Quincy,  gravely. 

\  "Not  at  all,"  said  Alice,  "but  I  have  not  answered  your 
^question.  How  did  I  know  that  it  was  you?  You  must 
remember,  Mr.  Sawyer,  that  those  who  cannot  see  have 
their  hearing  accentuated,  and  the  ear  kindly  sends  those 
pictures  to  the  brain  which  unfortunately  the  eye  cannot 
supply." 

"I  fiave  enjoyed  your  playing  and  singing  immensely ,n 
Uid  Quincy.  "Let  us  try  that  duet  again." 


A  WET  DAY.  159 

They  sang  it  again,  and  then  they  went  from  piece  to 
piece,  each  suggesting  her  or  his  favorite,  and  it  was  not 
till  Mandy's  shrill  voice  once  more  called  out  with  more 
than  usual  force  and  sharpness,  "Supper's  ready,"  that  the 
piano  was  closed  and  Quincy,  for  the  first  time  taking 
Alice's  hand  in  his,  led  her  from  the  parlor,  which  was 
almost  shrouded  in  darkness,  into  the  bright  light  of  the 
dining-room,  where  they  took  their  accustomed  seats. 
They  ate  but  little,  their  hearts  were  full  of  the  melody  that1 
each  had  enjoyed  so  much. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

SOME    MORE    NEW    IDEAS. 

HEN  Ezekiel  and  Cobb's  twins  returned  from  West 
Eastborough,  they  said  the  air  felt  like  snow. 
Mandy  had  kept  some  supper  for  them.  Ezekiel  said  they 
had  supper  over  to  Eastborough  Centre,  but  the  home 
cooking  smelled  so  good  that  all  three  sat  down  in  the 
kitchen  and  disposed  of  what  Mandy  had  provided. 

The  other  members  of  the  Pettengill  household  were  in 
their  respective  rooms.  Uncle  Ike  was  reading  a  maga 
zine.  Alice  had  not  retired,  for  Mandy  always  came  to 
her  room  before  she  did  so  to  see  that  her  fire  was  all  right 
for  the  night.  Alice  was  a  great  lover  oi  music  and  she 
had  enjoyed  the  afternoon  almost  as  much  as  Ouincy  had. 
She  could  not  help  thinking  what  musical  treats  might  be 
in  store  for  them,  and  then  the  thought  came  to  her  how 
she  would  miss  him  when  he  went  back  to  Boston. 

In  the  next  room,  Quincy  was  pursuing  a  similar  line  of 
thought.  He  was  thinking  of  the  nice  times  that  Alice 
and  he  could  have  singing  together.  To  be  sure  he  wished 
to  do  nothing  to  make  his  father  angry,  for  Ouincy  appre 
ciated  the  power  of  money.  He  knew  that  with  his 
mother's  third  deducted,  his  father's  estate  would  give  him 
between  two  and  three  hundred  thousand  dollars.  He  had 
some  money  in  his  own  right  left  him  by  a  fond  aunt,  his 
father's  sister,  the  income  fro/n  which  gave  him  a  good 
living  without  calling  upon  his  father. 

He  knew  his  father  wished  him  to  become  a  lawyer,  and 


SOME    MORE  NEW  IDEAS.  161 

keep  up  the  old  firm  which  was  so  well  known  in  legal  and 
business  circles,  but  Quincy  in  his  heart  realized  that  he 
was  not  equal  to  it,  and  the  future  had  little  attraction  for 
him,  if  it  were  to  be  passed  in  the  law  offices  of  Sawyer, 
Crowninshield,  &  Lawrence.  At  any  rate  his  health  was 
not  fully  restored  and  he  determined  to  stay  at  Mason's 
Corner  as  long  as  he  could  do  'so  without  causing  a  break 
in  the  friendly  relations  existing  between  'his  father  and 
himself.  His  present  income  was  enough  for  his  personal 
needs,  but  it  was  not  sufficient  to  also  support  a  Mrs. 
Quincy  Adams  Sawyer. 

What  Ezekiel  had  prophesied  came  true.  No  one  knew 
just  when  the  storm  began,  but  the  picture  that  greeted 
Mandy  Skinner's  eyes  when  she  came  down  to  get  break 
fast  was  a  great  contrast  to  that  of  the  previous  day. 

The  snow  had  fallen  steadily  in  large,  heavy  flakes,  the 
road  and  the  fields  showed  an  even,  unbroken  surface  of 
white;  the  tops  of  the  taller  fences  were  yet  above  the 
snow  line,  each  post  wearing  a  white  cap.  As  the  morn 
ing  advanced  the  storm  increased,  the  wind  blew,  and  great 
drifts  were  indications  of  its  power.  The  thick  clouds  of 
white  flakes  were  thrown  in  every  direction,  and  only  dire 
necessity,  it  seemed,  would  be  a  sufficient  reason  for  leav 
ing  a  comfortable  fireside. 

Mandy  and  Mrs.  Crowley  were  busily  engaged  in  pre 
paring  the  morning  meal,  when  a  loud  scratching  at  a 
door,  which  led  into  a  large  room  that  was  used  as  an  addi 
tion  to  the  kitchen,  attracted  their  attention.  In  bounded 
Swiss,  the  big  St.  Bernard  dog  belonging  to  Uncle  Ike. 
At  Uncle  Ike's  special  request  Swiss  had  not  been  banished 
to  the  barn  or  tHe  wood-shed,  but  had  been  allowed  to  sleep 
on  a  pallet  in  the  corner  of  the  large  room  referred  to. 

Swiss  was  a  great  favorite  with  Mandy,  and  he  was  a 
great  friend  of  'hers,  for  Swiss  was  very  particular  about 
his  food,  and  he  had  found  Mandy  to  be  a  much  better 


162  QUINCT  ADAMS  SAWYER. 

cook  than  Uncle  Ike  had  been;  besides  the  fare  was  more 
bounteous  at  the  Pettengill  homestead  than  down  at  the 
chicken  coop,  and  Swiss  had  gained  in  weight  and  strength 
since  his  change  of  quarters. 

After  breakfast  Uncle  Ike  came  into  the  kitchen  and 
'received  a  warm  welcome  from  Swiss.  Uncle  Ike  told 
Mandy  and  Mrs.  Crowley  the  well-known  story  of  the 
rescues  of  lost  travellers  made  by  the  St.  Bernard  dogs  on 
the  snow-clad  mountains  of  Switzerland.  When  Mrs. 
Crowley  learned  that  Swiss  had  come  from  a  country  ?. 
great  many  miles  farther  away  from  America  than  Ireland 
was,  he  rose  greatly  in  her  estimation  and  she  made  no 
objection  to  his  occupying  a  warm  corner  of  the  kitchen. 

About  noon,  when  the  storm  was  at  its  very  worst, 
Mandy,  who  was  looking  out  of  the  kitchen  window,  espied 
something  black  in  the  road  about  halfway  'between  Deacon 
Mason's  and  the  Pettengill  house.  She  called  Mrs.  Crow- 
ley  to  the  window  and  asked  her  what  she  thought  it  was. 

"That's  aisy,"  said  Mrs.  Crowley.  "It's  a  man  coming 
down  the  road." 

"What  can  bring  a  man  out  in  such  a  storm  as  this?" 
asked  Mandy. 

"Perhaps  he  is  going  for  the  docther,"  remarked  Mrs. 
Crowley. 

"Then  he  would  be  going  the  other  way,"  asserted 
Mandy. 

"He's  a  plucky  little  divil  anyway,"  said  Mrs.  Crowley. 

"That's  so,"  said  Mandy.  "He  is  all  right  as  long  as 
he  keeps  on  his  feet,  but  if  he  should  fall  down — " 

At  that  moment  the  man  did  fall  down  or  disappear  from 
sight.  Miandy  pressed  her  face  against  the  window  pane 
and  looked  with  strained  eyes.  He  was  up  again,  she 
could  see  the  dark  clothing  above  the  top  of  the  snow. 

What  was  that!    A  cry?  The  sound  was  repeated. 

"I  do  believe  the  man  is  calling  for  help,"  cried  Mandy. 


SOME  MOKE    NEW  IDEAS.  163 

She  rushed  to  the  kitchen  door  and  opened  it.  A  gust 
of  snow  swept  into  the  room,  followed  by  a  stream,  of  cold, 
chilling  air.  Swiss  awoke  from  his  nap  and  lifted  his  head. 
Despite  the  storm,  Mandy  stood  at  the  door  and  screamed 
"Hello !"  with  her  sharp,  strident  voice.  Could  she  believe 
her  ears?  Through  the  howling  storm  came  a  word! 
uttered  in  a  voice  which  her  woman's  heart  at  once  recog 
nized.  The  word  was  "Mandy,"  and  the  voice  was  Hiram's. 

"What  on  earth  is  he  out  in  this  storm  for?"  said  Mandy 
to  herself.  She  called  back  in  response,  "Hello!  Hello! 
Hello!"  and  once  more  her  own  name  was  borne  to  her 
through  the  beating,  driving  storm. 

She  shut  the  door  and  resumed  her  post  at  the  window. 
Hiram  was  still  struggling  manfully  against  the  storm  and 
had  made  considerable  progress. 

Mandy  turned  to  Mrs.  Crowley  and  said,  "Mr.  Maxwell 
is  coming,  Mrs.  Crowley." 

"More  fool  'he,"  remarked  Mrs.  Crowley,  "to  be  out  in 
a  storm  like  this." 

"Get  some  cider,  Mrs.  Crowley,"  said  Mandy,  "and  put 
it  on  the  stove.  He  will  need  a  good  warm  drink  when  he 
gets  here." 

"If  he  was  a  son  of  mine  he'd  get  a  good  warmin',"  said 
Mrs.  Crowley,  as  she  went  down  cellar  to  get  the  cider. 

Mandy  still  strained  her  eyes  at  the  window.  The  dark 
form  was  still  visible,  moving  slowly  through  the  snow. 
At  that  moment  a  terrific  storm  of  wind  struck  the  house; 
it  made  every  window  and  timber  rattle;  great  clouds  of 
snow  were  swept  up  from  the  ground  to  mingle  with  those 
coming  from  above,  and  the  two  were  thrown  into  a 
whirling  eddy  that  struck  the  poor  traveller  and  took  him 
from  his  feet,  covering  him  from  sight.  Mandy  rushed  to 
the  door  and  opened  it.  This  time  slie  did  not  scream 
"Hello."  The  word  this  time  was  "Hiram!  He  is  lost! 
He  is  lost!"  she  cried.  "His  strength  has  given  out;  but 


164  QUINCY   ADAMS  SAWYER. 

what  shall  I  do?  I  could  not  reach  him  if  I  tried.  Oh, 
Hiram!  Hiram!"  and  the  poor  girl  burst  into  tears.  She 
would  call  Mr.  Pettengill;  she  would  call  Cobb's  twins; 
she  would  call  Mr.  Sawyer;  one  of  them  would  surely  go 
to  !his  assistance. 

She  turned,  and  to  her  surprise  found  Swiss  by  her  side, 
looking  up  at  her  with  his  large,  intelligent  eyes.  Quick 
as  lightning,  Uncle  Ike's  story  came  back  to  her  mind. 
She  patted  Swiss  on  the  head,  and  pointed  out  into  the 
storm. 

Not  another  word  was  needed.  With  a  bound  Swiss 
went  into  the  snow  and  rapidly  forward  in  the  direction 
of  the  road.  Mandy  was  obliged  to  close  the  door  again 
and  resume  her  place  at  the  window.  How  her  heart  beat! 
How  she  watched  the  dog  as  he  ploughed  his  way  through 
the  drifts?  He  must  be  near  the  place.  Yes,  he  is  scratch 
ing  and  digging  down  into  the  snow.  Now  the  dark  form 
appears  once  more.  Yes,  Hiram  is  on  his  feet  again  and 
man  and  dog  resume  their  fight  with  the  elements. 

It  seemed  an  age  to  Mandy,  but  it  was  in  reality  not 
more  than  five  minutes,  before  Hiram  and  Swiss  reached 
the  kitchen  door  and  came  into  the  room. 

"Come  out  into  the  back  room,"  said  Mandy  to  Hiram. 
"I  don't  want  this  snow  all  over  my  kitchen  floor.''  So 
Hiram  and  Swiss  were  taken  into  the  big  room  and  in  a 
short  time  came  back  in  presentable  condition. 

"Now,  Mr.  Maxwell,  if  you  have  recovered  the  use  of 
your  tongue,  will  you  kindly  inform  me  what  sent  you 
out  in  such  a  storm  as  this?" 

"Well,"  replied  Hiram,  "I  reckoned  I'd  git  down  kinder 
early  in  the  mornin'  and  git  back  afore  dark.'' 

"That's  all  right,"  said" Mandy;  "but  that  don't  tell  me 
what  you  are  out  for,  anyway." 

"Well,  you  didn't  suppose,"  said  Hiram,  "that  I  could  go 
all  day  long  without  seein'  you,  did  yer,  Mandy?" 


SOME  MOKE    NEW  IDEAS.  16f 

Mrs.  Crowley  chuckled  to  herself  and'  went  into  the 
side  room.  Even  Swiss  seemed  to  recognize  that  two  were 
company  and  he  followed  Mrs.  Crowley  and  resumed  his 
old  resting  place  in  the  corner  on  the  pallet. 

As  Mrs.  Crowley  went  about  her  work,  she  chuckled 
again,  and  said  to  herself,  "It's  a  weddin'  I'll  be  goin'  to 
next  time  in  place  of  a  funeral." 

Upstairs  other  important  events  were  taking  place. 
Quincy  had  gone  to  his  room  directly  after  breakfast,  and 
looked  out  upon  the  wild  scene  of  storm  with  a  sense  of 
loneliness  that  had  not  hitherto  oppressed  him.  Why 
should  he  be  lonely?  Was  he  not  in  the  same  house  with 
her,  with  only  a  thin  wall  of  wood  and  plaster  between 
them?  Yes,  but  if  that  wall  had  been  of  granite  one  hun 
dred  feet  thick,  it  could  not  have  shut  him  off  more  effec 
tually  from  seeing  her  lovely  face  and  hearing  her  sweet 
voice. 

There  came  a  sharp  rap  at  the  door. 

"Come  in/'  called  out  Quincy. 

"Ah!"  said  Uncle  Ike  as  he  entered,  "I  am  glad  to  see 
you  have  a  good  fire.  The  snow  has  blown  down  into 
Alice's  room  and  her  fire  is  out.  Will  you  let  her  step 
in  here  for  a  few  moments,  Mr.  Sawyer,  until  'Zeke  and  I 
get  the  room  warm  again?" 

"Why,  certainly,"  replied  Quincy.  "I  am  only  too 
happy — " 

But  Uncle  Ike  was  off,  and  returned  in  a  few  moments 
leading1  Alice.  Quincy  placed  a  chair  for  her  before  the 
fire.  This  cold  wintry  day  she  wore  a  morning  dress  of 
a  shade  of  red  which,  despite  its  bright  color,  seemed  to 
harmonize  with  the  golden  hair  and  to  take  the  place  of 
the  sun,  which  was  not  there  to  light  it  up. 

"If  Miss  Pettengill  prefers,"  said  Quincy,  "I  can  make 
myself  comfortable  in  the  dining-room,  and  she  can  have 
my  room  to  herself." 


366  QUINCY  ADAMS  SAWYER. 

He  had  started  this  speech  to  Uncle  Ike,  who  left  the 
room  abruptly  in  the  middle  of  it,  and  Quincy 's  closing 
words  fell  on  Alice's  ears  alone. 

"Why,  certainly  not,"  said  Alice;  "sit  down,  Mr.  Sawyer, 
and  we  will  talk  about  something.  Don't  you  think  it  is 
terrible?''  As  Quincy  was  contemplating  his  fair  visitor, 
lie  could  hardly  be  expected  to  say  "yes''  to  her  question. 
"Perhaps  you  enjoy  it?"  said  she. 

"I  certainly  do,"  answered  Quincy,  throwing  his  whole 
heart  into  his  eyes. 

"Well,  I  must  differ  with  you,"  said  Alice.  "I  never 
did  like  snow.'' 

"Oh,  you  were  talking  about  the  weather!''  remarked 
Quincy. 

"Why,  yes,"  -said  Alice.  "What  'else  did  you  think  I 
was  talking  about?'' 

Quincy,  cool  and  self-possessed  as  he  invariably  was, 
was  a  trifle  embarrassed. 

Turning  to  Alice  -he  said,  "I  see,  Miss  Pettengill,  that 
I  must  make  you  a  frank  statement  in  order  that  you  may 
retain  your  respect  for  me.  I  know  you  will  pardon  me 
for  not  hearing  what  you  said,  and  for  what  I  am  about 
to  say;  but  the  fact  is,  I  was  wondering  whether  you  have 
had  the  best  advice  and  assistance  that  the  medical  science 
of  to-day  can  afford  you  as  regards  your  eyes." 

"It  is  very  kind  of  you,  Mr.  Sawyer,  to  think  of  me,  and 
my  trouble,  and  I  will  answer  you  in  the  same  friendly 
way  in  which  you  have  spoken.  I  was  taken  sick  one* 
morning  just  as  I  was  eating  my  breakfast.  I  never  felt 
better  in  my  life  than  I  did  that  morning,  but  the  pain  in 
my  side  was  so  intense,  so  agonizing,  that  by  the  time  I 
reached  my  room  and  threw  myself  on  the  bed,  physically 
I  was  a  complete  wreck.  A  doctor  was  called  at  once  amd 
he  remained  with  me  from  eight  o'clock  until  noon  before 
1  became  comfortable.  I  thought  I  was  going  to  get  better 


SOME    MORE  NEW  IDEAS.  167 

right  off,  or  I  should  have  written  to  'Zekiel.  Two  other 
attacks,  each  more  severe  than  the  one  preceding,  followed 
the  first,  and  I  was  so  sick  that  writing,  or  telling  any  one 
else  what  to  write,  or  where  to  write,  was  impossible.  Then 
I  began  slowly  to  recover,  but  I  was  very  weak  and  what 
made  me  feel  worse  than  ever  was  the  fact  that  the  trouble 
with  my  eyes,  which  before  my  illness  I  had  attributed  to 
nearsightedness,  was  now  .so  marked  that  I  could  not  see 
across  the  room.  I  could  not  even  see  to  turn  a  spoonful 
of  medicine  from  a  bottle  on  the  table  beside  my  bed.  The 
Pettengills,  Mr.  Sawyer,  are  a  self-reliant  race,  and  I  con 
cluded  in  my  own  mind  that  the  trouble  with  my  eyes  was 
due  to  my  illness,  and  that  when  I  recovered  from  that, 
they  would  get  well;  but  they  did  not.  I  was  able,  physically, 
to  resume  my  work,  but  I  could  not  see  to  read  or  write.  I 
sent  for  my  employer  and  told  him  my  condition.  He 
advised  me  to  consult  an  oculist  at  once.  In  fact,  he  got  a 
carriage  and  took  me  to  one  himself.  The  oculist  said  that 
the  treatment  would  require  at  least  three  months;  so  my 
employer  told  me  I  had  better  come  home,  and  that  when 
I  recovered  I  could  -have  my  place  back  again.  He  is  a 
fine,  generous-hearted  man  and  I  should  be  very  miserable 
if  I  thought  I  was  going  to  lose  my  place." 

"But  what  did  the  oculist  say  was  the  trouble  with  your 
eyes?''  Quincy  asked. 

"He  didn't  tell  me,"  replied  Alice.  "He  may  have  told 
my  employer.  He  gave  me  some  drops  to  put  in  my  eyes 
three  times  a  day;  and  a  little  metal  tube  with  a  cover  to  it 
like  the  top  of  a  pepper  box;  on  the  other  end  is  a  piece  of 
rubber  tubing,  with  a  glass  mouthpiece  attached  to  it." 

"How  do  you  use  that?"  asked  Quincy. 

Alice  continued,  "I  hold  the  pepper  box  in  front  of  my 
wide-opened  eye;  then  I  put  the  glass  mouthpiece  in  my 
mouth  and  blow,  for  a  certain  length  of  time.  1  don't  know 
how  long  it  is.  It  seems  as  though  a  thousand  needles 


168  QUINCY   ADAMS    SAWYER. 

were  driven  into  my  eyeball.  The  drops  make  me  cry;  but 
the  little  tube  brings  the  tears  in  torrents." 

"Isn't  that  harsh  treatment?"  asked  Quincy,  as  he  looked 
at  the  beautiful  blue  but  sightless  eyes  that  were  turned 
towards  him. 

"No,"  said  Alice  with  a  laugh,  "the  pain  and  the  tears 
are  like  an  April  shower,  for  both  soon  pass  away." 

At  this  moment  Uncle  Ike  entered  the  room  and  Eze- 
kiel's  steps  were  'heard  descending  the  stairs.  Uncle  Ike 
said,  "We  have  got  it  started  and  'Zeke's  gone  down  to 
bring  up  a  good  stock  of  wood.  If  you  have  no  objection, 
Mr.  Sawyer,  I  will  sit  down  here  a  few  minutes.  Don't  let 
me  interrupt  your  conversation." 

"I  hope  you  will  take  a  part  in  it/'  said  Quincy.  "You 
put  a  lot  of  new  ideas  into  my  head  the  first  time  I  came 
to  see  you,  and  perhaps  you  may  have  some  more  new 
ones  for  me  to-day.  Miss  Pettengill  was  just  saying  she 
would  feel  miserable  if  she  lost  her  situation." 

"I  have  no  doubt  of  it,"  said  Uncle  Ike.  "The  Petten- 
gills  are  not  afraid  to  work.  If  a  man  is  obliged  to  earn 
his  living  by  the  sweat  of  his  brow,  I  don't  see  why  woman 
shouldn't  do  the  same  thing." 

"But  the  home  is  woman's  sphere,"  said  Quincy. 

"Bosh!"  cried  Uncle  Ike. 

"Why,  Uncle!"  cried  Alice. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Sawyer  understands  me!"  said  Uncle  Ike.  "In 
the  Middle  Ages,  when  women  occupied  the  highest  posi 
tion  that  has  fallen  to  her  lot  since  the  days  of  Adam,  the 
housework  was  done  by  menials  and  scullions.  Has  the 
world  progressed  when  woman  is  pulled  down  from  hcr 
high  estate  and  this  life  of  drudgery  is  called  her  sphere? 
Beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Sawyer,  but  there  should  be  no 
more  limit  fixed  to  the  usefulness  of  woman  than  there  is  to 
the  usefulness  of  man." 

"But,"  persisted  Alice,  "I  don't  think  Mr.  Sawyer  means 


SOME  MORE    NEW   IDEAS.  169 

that  exactly.  He  means  a  woman  should  stay  at  home 
and  look  after  her  family." 

"Well,"  said  Uncle  Ike,  "so  should  the  man.  I  am  in 
clined  to  think  if  the  father  spent  more  time  at  home,  it 
would  be  for  the  advantage  of  both  sons  and  daughters." 

"But,"  said  Quincy,  "do  you  think  it  is  for  the  best  in 
terests  of  the  community  that  woman  should  force  her 
way  into  all  branches  of  industry  and  compete  with  man 
for  a  livelihood?" 

"Why  not?''  said  Uncle  Ike.  "In  the  old  days  when  they 
didn't  work,  for  they  didn't  know  how  and  didn't  want  to, 
because  they  thought  it  was  beneath  them,  if  a  man  died, 
his  wife  and  children  became  dependent  upon  some  brother 
or  sister  or  uncle  or  aunt,  and  they  were  obliged  to  provide 
for  them  out  of  their  own  small  income  or  savings.  In 
those  days  it  was  respectable  to  be  genteelly  poor,  and 
starve  rather  than  work  and  live  on  the  fat  of  the  land. 
Nothing  has  ever  done  so  much  to  increase  the  self-respect 
of  woman,  and  add  to  her  feeling  of  independence,  as  the 
knowledge  of  the  fact  that  she  can  support  herself."  Alice 
bowed  her  head  and  covered  her  eyes  with  her  hand. 
"There's  nothing  personal  in  what  I  say,"  said  Uncle  Ike. 
"1  am  only  talking  on  general  principles.'' 

Quincy  yearned  to  say  something  against  Uncle  Ike's 
argument,  but  how  could  he  advance  anything  against 
woman's  work  when  the  one  who  sat  before  him  was  a 
working-woman  and  was  weeping  because  she  could  not 
work?  There  was  one  thing  he  could  do,  he  could  change 
the  subject  to  one  where  there  was  an  opportunity  for 
debate.  So  he  said,  "Well,  Mr.  Pettengill,  I  presume  if 
you  are  such  an  ardent  advocate  of  woman's  right  or  even 
duty  to  work,  that  you  are  also  a  supporter  of  her  right  to 
vote." 

"That  does  not  follow,"  replie-d  Uncle  Ike.  "To  be  self- 
reliant,  independent,  and  self-supporting  is  a  pleasure  and  a 


170  QursrcY  ADAMS  SAWYER. 

duty,  and  adds  to  one's  self-respect.  As  voting  is  done  at 
the  present  day,  I  do  not  see  how,  woman  can  take  part  in  it 
and  maintain  her  self-respect.  Improvements  no  doubt 
will  be  made  in  the  manner  of  voting.  The  ballot  will 
become  secret,  and  the  count  will  not  be  disclosed  until 
after  the  voting  is  finished.  The  rum  stores  will  be  closed 
on  voting  day  and  an  air  of  respectability  will  be  given  to 
it  that  it  does  not  now  possess.  It  ought  to  be  made  a  legal 
holiday." 

"Granted,"  said  Quincy,  "but  what  has  that  to  do  with 
the  question  of  woman's  right  to  vote?" 

"Woman  has  no  inherent  right  to  vote,"  said  Uncle  Ike. 
"The  ballot  is  a  privilege,  not  a  right.  Why,  I  remember 
reading  during  the  war  that  young  soldiers,  between 
eighteen  and  twenty-one  years  of  age,  claimed  the  ballot 
as  a  right,  because  they  were  fighting  for  their  country. 
If  voting  is  a  right,  what  argument  could  be  used  against 
tiheir  claim?" 

"I  remember,"  added  Quincy,  "that  (they  argued  that 
'bullets  should  win  ballots.'  Do  you  think  any  one  should 
vote  who  cannot  fight?"  asked  Quincy. 

"If  he  does  not  shirk  his  duty  between  eighteen  and 
forty-five,''  said  Uncle  Ike,  "he  should  not  be  deprived  of 
bis  ballot  when  he  is  older;  but  the  question  of  woman's 
voting  does  not  depend  upon  her  ability  to  fight.  The 
mother  at  home  thinking  of  her  son,  the  sister  thinking  of 
her  brother,  the  wife  thinking  of  her  husband,  are  as  loy 
ally  fighting  for  their  native  land  as  the  soldiers  in  the 
field,  and  no  soldier  is  braver  than  the  hospital  nurse,  who, 
day  after  day  and  night  after  night,  watches  by  the  bed 
sides  of  the  wounded,  the  sick,  and  the  dying.  No,  Mr. 
Sawyer,  it  is  not  a  question  of  fighting  or  bravery." 

During  the  discussion  Alice  had  dried  her  eyes  and  was 
listening  to  her  uncle's  words.  She  now  asked  a  question, 
"When  will  women  vote,  Uncle?" 


SOME  MOKE    NEW  IDEAS.  171 

"When  it  is  deemed  expedient  for  them  to  do  so/'  replied 
Uncle  Ike.  "The  full  privilege  will  not  be  given  all  at  once. 
They  will  probably  be  allowed  to  vote  an  some  one  matter 
in  which  they  are  deeply  interested.  Education  and  the 
rum  question  are  the  ones  most  likely  to  be  acted  upon 
first.  But  the  full  ballot  will  not  come,  and  now  I  know 
Alice  will  shake  her  head  and  say,  'No!'  I  repeat  it — the 
full  ballot  will  not  come  for  woman  until  our  social  super 
structure  is  changed.  Woman  will  not  become  the  political 
equal  of  man  until  she  is  his  social  and  industrial  equal;  and 
until  any  contract  of  whatever  nature  made  by  a  man  and  a 
woman  may  be  dissolved  by  them  by  mutual  consent,  with 
out  their  becoming  criminals  in  the  eye  of  the  law,  or  out 
casts  in  the  eyes  of  society.'' 

At  this  moment  Ezekiel  looked  in  the  door  and  said, 
"Alice's  room  is  nice  and  warm  now."  Advancing,  he 
took  her  ihand  and  led  her  from  the  room.  Uncle  Ike 
thanked  Quincy  for  his  kindness  and  followed  them. 
Quincy  sat  and  thought.  The  picture  that  his  mind  drew 
placed  the  woman  wiho  had  just  left  his  room  in  a  large 
house,  with  servants  at  her  command.  She  was  the  head 
of  the  household,  but  no  menial  nor  scullion.  She  did  not 
work,  because  he  was  able  and  willing  to  support  her.  She 
did  not  vote,  because  she  felt  with  him  that  at  home  was 
her  sphere  of  usefulness;  and  then  Quincy  thought  that 
what  would  make  this  possible  was  money,  money  that  not 
he  but  others  had  earned,  and  he  knew  that  without  this 
money  the  question  could  not  be  solved  as  'his  mind  had 
pictured  it;  and  he  reflected  that  all  women  could  not  have 
great  houses  and  servants  and  loving  husbands  to  care  for 
them,  and  he  acknowledged  to  himself  that  'his  solution 
was  a  personal,  selfish  one  and  not  one  that  would  answer 
for  the  toiling  millions  of  the  working  world. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

AFTER   THE    GREAT    SNOWSTORM. 

ANDY  was,  of  course,  greatly  pleased  inwardly  be 
cause  Hiram  had  come  through  such  a  great  storm 
to  see  her,  but,  woman-like,  she  would  not  show  it. 

So  she  said  to  Hiram,  ''Your  reason  is  a  very  good  one, 
and  of  course  I  am  greatly  flattered,  but  there  must  be 
something  else  besides  that.  Now,  what  have  you  got  to 
tell  me?" 

"Well,  the  fact  is,  Mandy,  I've  got  two  things  on  my 
mind.  One  of  'em  is  a  secret  and  t'other  isn't.  I  meant 
to  have  told  you  yesterday;  but  Mr.  Sawyer  kept  me  busy 
till  noon,  and  the  Deacon  kept  me  busy  all  the  afternoon, 
and  I  was  too  tired  to  come  over  last  night." 

"Well,"  said  Mandy,  "tell  me  the  secret  first.  If  the 
other  one  has  kept  so  long  it  won't  spoil  if  it's  kept  a  little 
longer." 

Hiram  had  kept  his  eyes  on  the  stove  since  taking  his 
seat,  and  he  then  remarked,  "I  am  afraid  that  cider  will 
spoil  unless  I  get  a  drink  of  it  pretty  soon." 

"Well,  I  declare,"  cried  Mandy,  "if  I  didn't  forget  to 
give  it  to  you,  after  sending  Mrs.  Crowley  down  stairs  for 
it,  when  you  was  out  there  in  the  road." 

"That's  all  right,"  said  Hiram,  as  he  finished  the  mugful 
she  passed  him,  and  handed  it  back  to  be  refilled.  "That 
sort  o'  limbers  a  feller's  tongue  a  bit.  Well,  the  secret  is," 
said  Hiram,  lowering  his  voice,  "that  when  Huldy  saw  me 
gettin'  ready  to  go  out,  sez  she,  'Where  are  you  goin'?' 


AFTER  THE   GREAT  SNOWSTORM.  173 

'Over  to  Mr.  PettengiU's/  sez  I.  Then  sez  she,  'Will  you 
wait  a  minute  till  I  write  a  note?'  'Certainly,'  sez  I.  And 
when  she  brought  me  the  note,  sez  she,  'Please  give  that 
to  Mr.  Pettengill  and  don't  let  anybody  else  see  it.'  Then 
sez  I  to  her,  'No,  ma'am;'  but  I  sez  to  myself,  'Nobody 
but  Mandy.'"  And  Hiram  took  from  an  inside  pocket 
an  envelope,  addressed  to  Mr.  Ezekiel  Pettengill,  and 
showed  it  to  Mandy.  Then  he  put  it  back  quickly  in  his 
pocket. 

"Well,  what  of  that?''  asked  Mandy.  "That's  no  great 
secret."'' 

"Well,  not  in  itself,"  said  Hiram;  "but  I  am  willing  to 
bet  a  year's  salary  agin  a  big  red  apple  that  those  two 
people  have  made  up  and  are  engaged  reg'lar  fashion." 

"You  don't  say  so,"  cried  Mandy,  "what  makes  you 
think  so?" 

"Well,  a  number  of  things,"  said  Hiram.  "I  overheard 
the  Deacon  say  to  Huldy,  'It  will  be  pretty  lonesome  for 
us  one  of  these  days,'  and  then  you  see  Mrs.  Mason,  she  is 
just  as  good  as  pie  to  me  all  the  time,  and  that  shows  some 
thing  has  pleased  her  more  than  common;  and  then  you. 
see  Huldy  has  that  sort  of  look  about  her  that  girls  hava 
when  .their  market's  made,  and  they  feel  so  happy  that  they 
can't  help  showing  it.  You  see,  Mandy,  I'm  no  chicken. 
I've  -had  lots  of  experience." 

What  Mandy  might  have  said  in  reply  to  this  remark 
will  never  be  known,  for  at  this  juncture  Ezekiel  entered 
the  room  and  passed  through  on  his  w.ay  to  the  wood-shed. 

"Now's  my  time,5'  said  Hiram,  and  he  arose  and  followed 
him  out. 

Ezekiel  was  piling  up  some  wood  which  he  was  to  take 
to  Alice's  room,  when  Hiram  came  up  beside  him  and 
slyly  passed  him  the  note.  Then  Hiram  looked  out  of  the 
wood-shed  window  at  the  storm,  which  had  lost  none  of  its 
fury,  while  Ezekiel  read  the  note. 


174  QUINCY  ADAMS  SAWYER. 

"Are  you  going  home  soon?"  asked  Ezekiel. 

"Well,  I  guess  I'll  try  it  again,"  said  Hiram,  "as  soon  as 
I  get  warm  and  kinder  limbered  up." 

"I  guess  I'll  go  back  with  you/'  said  Ezekiel.  "We  will 
take  Swiss  with  us;  two  men  and  a  dog  ought  to  'be  enough 
for  a  little  snowstorm  like  this." 

"You  won't  find  it  a  little  one,"  said  Hiram,  "when  you 
get  out  in  the  road,  but  I  guess  the  three  on  us  can  pull 
through." 

Ezekiel  went  upstairs  with  the  wood  and  Hiram  resumed 
his  seat  before  the  kitchen  fire. 

"What  did  I  tell  you?"  said  Hiram  to  Mandy.  "  'Zeke's 
going  back  with  me.  She  has  writ  him  to  come  over  and 
see  her.  Now  you  see  if  you  don't  lose  your  apple.'' 

"I  didn't  bet,"  said  Mandy;  "but  what  was  that  other 
thing  you  were  going  to  tell  me  that  was  no  secret?" 

"Oh,  that's  about  another  couple,"  said  Hiram.  "Tilly 
James  is  engaged." 

"Well,  k's  about  time,"  said  Mandy.  "Which  one  of 
them?" 

"Samuel  Hill,"  replied  Hiram,  "and  she  managed  it  fust 
rate.  You  know  the  boys  have  been  flocking  round  her 
for  more  than  a  year.  Old  Ben  James,  her  pa,  told  me 
he'd  got  to  put  in  a  new  hitchin'  post.  You  see,  there  has 
been  Robert  Wood  and  'Manuel  Howe  and  Arthur  Scates 
and  Cobb's  twins  and  Ben  Bates  and  Sam  Hill,  but  Samuel 
was  .the  cutest  one  of  the  lot." 

"Why,  what  did  he  do  that  was  bright?"  asked  Mandy. 

"Well,"  replied  Hiram,  "you  see,  Tilly  sot  down  and 
writ  invites  to  all  the  boys  that  had  been  sparkin'  'round 
her  to  come  to  see  her  the  same  night.  She  gave  these 
invites  to  her  brother  Bill  to  deliver.  Well,  Sam  Hill 
met  him,  found  out  what  he  was  about,  and  kinder  sur 
mised  what  it  all  meant.  Wall,  the  night  came  'round  and 
Sain  Hill  was  the  only  one  that  turned  up  at  the  time 


AFTER  THE   GREAT   SNOWSTORM.  175 

app'inted.  After  talkin'  about  the  weather,  last  year's 
crops,  and  spring  plantin',  Sam  just  braced  up  and  pro 
posed,  and  Tilly  accepted  him  on  the  spot." 

"Where  were  the  other  fellers?"  asked  Mandy.  "I 
always  surmised  that  she  thought  more  of  Ben  Bates  than 
(she  did  of  Sam  Hill." 

"Well,  it  didn't  come  out  till  a  couple  of  days  afterwards," 
said  Hiram.  "You  see,  the  shortest  way  -to  old  James's 
place  is  to  go  over  the  mill  race,  and  all  of  the  fellers  but 
Sam  Hill  went  that  way,  and  the  joke  of  it  was  that  they 
all  fell  over  into  the  river  and  got  a  duckinV 

"Well/'  said  Mandy,  "they  must  have  been  drinking. 
Tilly  is  well  rid  of  the  whole  lot  of  -them.  Why,  I've  walked 
over  that  log  time  and  time  again." 

"Well,  they  hadn't  been  drinkin',"  said  Hiram.  "You 
see  it  was  pretty  dark  and  they  didn't  get  on  to  the  fact  that 
the  log  was  greased  till  it  was  kinder  too  late  to  rectify 
matters." 

"And  did  Sam  Hill  do  that?"  asked  Mandy. 

"He  did,1'  said  Hiram;  and  he  burst  into  a  loud  laugh, 
in  which  Mandy  joined. 

The  laughing  was  quickly  hushed  as  the  kitchen  door 
opened  and  Ezekiel  entered,  warmly  dressed  for  his  fight 
with  the  snow  and  carrying  a  heavy  cane  in  his  hand. 

"Call  the  dog,  Hiram,"  said  Ezekiel,  "and  we'll  start. 
Mandy,  tell  Jim  and  Bill  to  come  over  to  Deacon  Mason's 
(for  me  about  four  o'clock,  unless  it  looks  too  bad;  if  it  does 
they  needn't  try  it  till  to-morrow  morning.'' 

"All  ready,"  said  he  to  Hiram,  who  was  patting  Swiss's 
head,  and  off  they  started. 

Again  fylandy  went  to  the  window  and  watched  the 
progress  of  the  travellers.  Mrs.  Crowley  came  into  the 
kitchen  and  seeing  Mandy  at  the  window  quietly  turned 
out  a  mug  of  the  hot  cider  and  drank  it  She  then  ap< 


176  QUINCY  ADAMS   SAWYER. 

preached  Mandy  and  said,  "What  was  all  the  laughin' 
about?  I  like  a  good  joke  myself." 

Mandy  said,  "Oh,  he  was  telling  me  about  a  girl  that 
invited  all  her  fellers  to  come  and  see  her  the  same  even 
ing,  and  only 'one  of  them  got  there  because  he  greased  the- 
log  over  the  mill  race,  and  all  the  rest  of  them  fell  into  the 
water." 

"It  was  a  mane  trick,"  said  Mrs.  Crowley.  "Now,  when 
all  the  boys  were  after  me,  for  I  was  a  good-lookin'  girl 
once,  Pat  Crowley,  he  was  me  husband,  had  a  fight  on 
hand  every  night  for  a  fortnight  and  all  on  account  of  me; 
and  they  do  say  there  were  never  so  many  heads  broken 
In  the  County  of  Tipperary  on  account  of  one  girl  since  the 
days  of  St.  Patrick." 

Mandy  had  paid  but  little  attention  to  Mrs.  Crowley's 
speech.  She  was  too  busy  watching  the  travellers.  Mrs. 
Crowley  filled  and  emptied  the  mug  once  more. 

The  last  potation  was  too  much  for  her  equilibrium,  and 
forgetting  the  step  that  led  from  the  kitchen  to  the  side 
room,  she  lost  her  balance  and  fell  prone  upon  the  floor. 
Her  loud  cries  obliged  Mandy  to  turn  from  the  window, 
but  not  until  she  had  seen  that  the  travellers  had  reached 
the  fence  before  Deacon  Mason's  house,  and  she  knew  they 
were  safe  for  the  present.  Mrs.  Crowley  was  lifted  to  her 
feet  by  Mandy.  The  old  woman  declared  that  she  was 
"kilt  intirely,"  but  Mandy  soon  learned  the  cause  of  the 
accident,  and  returning  to  the  kitchen  closed  the  door  and 
continued  her  morning  duties. 

Before  Ezekiel  left  the  house  he  had  interrupted 
Ouincy's  meditations  by  knocking  on  'his  door,  and  when 
admitted  told  >him  that  he  had  had  a  letter  from  Huldy. 

"She  is  kind  of  lonesome,"  he  said,  "and  wants  me  to 
come  over  to  see  her." 

"But  it  is  a  terrible  storm."  said  Ouincy,  looking  out.  of 
the  window. 


AFTER  THE   GREAT  SNOWSTORM.  17? 

"Oh,"  said  Ezekiel,  "we'll  be  all  right!  Hiram  is  going 
with  me,  and  we  are  going  to  take  Swiss  along  with  us. 
Now,  Mr.  Sawyer,  I  am  going  to  ask  you  to  do  me  and 
Alice  a  favor.  Uncle  Ike  is  upstairs  busy  reading,  and  if 
you  will  kinder  look  out  for  Alice  till  I  get  back  I  shall  be 
greatly  obliged.'' 

Quincy  promised  and  Ezekiel  departed. 

Quincy  thought  the  fates  had  favored  'him  in  imposing 
upon  him  such  a  pleasant  task.  But  where  was  she,  and 
what  could  lie  do  to  amuse  .her?  Then  h>e  thought,  "We 
can  sing  together  as  we  did  yesterday." 

He  went  down  stairs  to  the  parlor,  thinking  she  might  be 
there,  but  the  room  was  empty.  The  fire  was  low,  but  the 
supply  of  wood  was  ample,  and  in  a  short  time  the  great 
room  was  warm  and  comfortable.  Quincy  seated  himself 
at  the  piano,  played  a  couple  of  pieces  and  then  sang  a 
couple ;  he  did  not  'think  while  singing  the  second  song  that 
he  had  possibly  transcended  propriety,  but  when  he  sang 
the  closing  lines  of  "Alice,  Where  Art  Thou?"  it  suddenly 
dawned  upon  'him,  and,  full  of  vexation,  he  arose  and 
walked  to  the  window  and  looked  out  upon  the  howling 
storm. 

Suddenly  he  heard  a  sweet  voice  say,  "I  am  here."  And 
then  a  low  laugh  reached  his  ear. 

Turning,  'he  saw  Alice  standing  in  the  middle  of  the 
room,  while  Mandy's  retreating  figure  snowed  who  had 
been  her  escort.  Her  brother  Ezekiel  had  rigged  a  bell 
.wire  from  her  room  to  the  kitchen,  so  that  she  could  call 
Maridy  when  she  needed  her  assistance. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Miss  Pettengill,"  said  Quincy,  ad 
vancing  towards  her.  "The  song  has  always  been  a  favor 
ite  of  mine,  but  I  never  thought  of  its  personal  application 
until  I  reached  the  closing  words.  I  trust  you  do  not 
think  I  was  so  presuming1  as  to — " 

Alice  smiled  and  said,  "The  song  is  also  a  favorite  one  of 


178  QUINCY  ADAMS    SAWYER. 

mine,  Mr.  Sawyer,  and  you  sang  it  beautifully.  No  apolo 
gies  are  -needed,  for  the  fact  is  I  was  just  saying  to  myself, 
'Mr.  Sawyer,  where  are  you?'  for  'Zekiel  told  me  that  fie 
was  going  to  speak  to  you  and  ask  you  to  help  me  drive 
away  those  lonesome  feelings  that  always  come  to  me  on  a 
day  like  this.  I  cannot  see  the  storm,  but  I  can  'hear  it  and 
feel  it." 

As  Quincy  advanced  towards  her  he  saw  she  held  several 
sheets  of  paper  in  her  hand. 

"I  am  at  your  service,"  said  he.  "I  am  only  afraid  that 
your  requirements  will  exceed  my  ability." 

"Very  prettily  spoken,"  said  Alice,  as  Qukicy  led  her 
to  a  seat  by  the  fire,  and  took  one  himself.  "I  am  going  to 
confess  to  you,"  said  she,  "one  of  my  criminal  acts.  I  am 
going  to  ask  you  to  sit  as  judge  and  mete  out  what  you 
consider  a  suitable  punishment  for  my  offence." 

"What  crime  have  you  committed?"  asked  Quincy 
gravely. 

Alice  laughed,  shook  the  papers  she  held  in  her  hand, 
and  said,  "I  have  written  poetry." 

"The  crime  is  a  great  one,"  said  Quincy.  "But  if  the 
poetry  be  good  k  may  serve  to  mitigate  your  sentence. 
Are  those  the  evidences  of  your  crime  you  hold  in  your 
hand,  Miss  Pettingill?" 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  as  she  passed  a  written  sheet  to 
him;  "I  wrote  them  before  my  eyes  failed  me.  Perhaps 
you  will  find  it  hard  to  read  .them.  Which  one  is  that?" 
she  asked. 

"It  is  headed,  'On  the  Banks  of  the  Tallahassee,'" 
replied  Quincy. 

"Oh!"  cried  Alice,  "I  didn't  write  that  song  myself.  A 
gentleman  friend,  who  is  now  dead,  was  the  author  of  it. 
But  he  couldn't  write  a  chorus  and  he  asked  me  to  do  it 
for  him.  The  idea  of  the  chorus  is  moonlight  on  the  river." 

"Shall  I  read  it?"  asked  Quincy. 


AFTER  THE   GEEAT  SNOWSTORM.  176 

"Only  the  chorus  part,  if  you  please,"  replied  Alice,  "and 
be  as  lenient  as  you  can,  good  Mr.  Judge,  for  that  was  my 
first  offence." 

Quincy,  in  a  smooth,  even  voice,  read  the  following 
words : 

The  moon's  bright  rays, 
In  a  silver  maze, 

Fall  on  the  rushing  river; 
Each  ray  of  light 
Like  an  arrow  white 

Drawn  from  a  crystal  quiver. 
They  romp  and  play, 
In  a  wond'rous  way, 

On  tree  and  shrub  and  flower; 
And  fill  the  night 
With  a  radiant  light, 

That  falls  like  a  silver  shower. 

"You  do  not  say  anything,"  said  Alice,  as  Quincy  finished 
reading  and  remained  silent. 

He  replied,  "You  have  conferred  judicial  functions  upon 
me  and  a  judge  does  not  give  his  opinion  until  the  evidence 
is  all  in." 

"Ah!  I  see,"  said  Alice.  "My  knowledge  of  metrical 
composition-,"  she  continued,  "is  very  limited.  What  I 
know  of  it  I  learned  from  an  old  copy  of  Fowler's  Gram 
mar  that  I  bought  at  Burnham's  on  School  Street  soon 
after  I  went  to  Boston.  I  have  always  called  what  you 
just  read  a  poem.  Is  it  one?"  she  asked,  looking  up  with, 
a  smile. 

"I  think  it  Is,"  replied  Quincy,  "and,"  he  added  inad 
vertently,  "a  very  pretty  one,  too." 

"Oh!  Mr.  Judge/'  laughing  outright,  ''you  have  given 
aid  and  comfort  to  the  prisoner  before  the  evidence  wa* 
all  in." 


180  QUINCY  ADAMS  SAWYER. 

And  Quincy  was  forced  to  laugh  heartily  at  the  acute* 
ness  she  had  shown  in  forcing  his  opinion  from  him  prema 
turely." 

"Now,  this  one,"  said  Alice,  "I  call  a  song.  I  know 
which  one  it  is  by  the  size  and  thickness  of  the  paper." 
And  she  handed  him  a  foolscap  sheet. 

Quincy  took  it  and  glanced  over  it  -a  moment  or  two 
before  he  spoke,  Alice  leaning  forward  and  listening  in 
tently  for  the  first  sound  of 'his  voice.  Then  Quincy  uttered 
those  ever  pleasing  words,  "Sweet,  Sweet  Home/'  and 
delivered,  with  great  expression,  the  words  of  the  song. 

"You  read  it  splendidly,"  cried  Alice,  with  evident  de 
light.  "Would  it  be  presuming  on  your  kindness  if  1 
asked  you  to  read  the  refrain  and  chorus  once  more,  Mr. 
Sawyer?'' 

"I  shall  enjoy  reading  it  again  myself,"  remarked 
Quincy,  as  he  proceeded  to  comply  with  Alice's  pleasantly 
worded  request. 

REFRAIN: 

There  is  no  place  like  home,  they  say, 

No  matter  where  it  be ; 

The  lordly  mansion  of  the  rich, 

The  hut  of  poverty. 

The  little  cot,  the  tenement, 

The  white- winged  ship  at  sea; 

The  heart  will  always  seek  its  home, 

Wherever  it  may  be. 

'CHORUS: 

Sweet,  sweet  home! 

To    that    sweet    piace    where    youth  was    passed  OUT 

thought;:  will  turn; 
Sweet,  sweet  home! 

Will  send  the  blood  to  flaming  face,  and  hearts  will  burn. 


AFTEK  THE   GREAT  SNOWSTOKM.  18J 

Sweet,  sweet  home! 

It  binds  us  to  our  native  land  where'er  we  roam, 
No  land  so  fair,  no  sky  so  blue, 
As  those  we  find  when  back  we  come  to  sweet,  sweet  home! 

"Of  course  you  know  that  lovely  song,  'Juanita'?"  said 
Alice. 

"Certainly,"  said  Quincy,  and  he  sang  the  first  line  of 
the  chorus. 

Alice's  voice  joined  in  with  his,  and  they  finished  the 
chorus  together.  A  thrill  went  through  Quincy  as  he 
sang  the  last  line,  and  he  was  conscious  that  his  voice  quiv 
ered  when  he  came  to  the  words,  "Be  my  own  fair  bride," 

"You  sing  with  great  expression,"  said  Alice.  "If  you 
like  these  new  words  that  I  have  written  to  that  old  melody 
we  can  sing  them  together.  I  have  called  it  Loved  Days. 
I  think  this  is  the  one,''  she  said,  as  she  passed  him  several 
small  sheets  pinned  together. 

"It  is,"  said  Quincy,  as  he  took  the  paper  and  read  it 
slowly. 

As  before,  he  said  nothing  when  he  had  finished. 

"Mr.  Judge,"  said  Alice,  "would  it  be  improper,  from  a 
judicial  point  of  view,  for  me  to  ask  you  which  lines  in  the 
song  you  -have  just  read  please  you  the  most?  But  per 
haps,"  said  she,  looking  up  at  him,  "none  of  them  are 
worthy  of  repetition." 

"If  you  will  consider  for  a  moment,"  replied  Quincy, 
'!fthat  I  am  off  the  bench  and  am  just  sitting  here  quietly, 
/vith  you,  I  will  say,  confidentially,  that  I  am  particularly 
well  pleased  with  this;"  and  he  read  a  portion  of  the  first 
stanza: 

On  Great  Heaven's  beauties, 

Gaze  the  eyes  I  loved  to  see, 
Done  earth's  weary  duties, 

Now,  eternity. 


182  QUINCY   ADAMS  SAWYER. 

"And.*'  continued  Quincy,  "I  think  -these  lines  from  the 
second  stanza  are  fully  equal  to  those  I  have  just  read/" 

But  my  soul,  still  living, 

Speaks  its  words  of  comfort  sweet, 

Grandest  promise  giving 
That  again  we'll  meet. 

"1  should  think,"  continued  Quincy,  "that  those  woras 
were  particularly  well  suited  to  be  sung  at  a  funeral.  I 
shall  have  to  ask  my  friend  Bradley  to  'have  his  quartette 
learn  them,  so  as  to  be  ready  when  I  need  them." 

"Oh!  Mr.  Sawyer,"  cried  Alice,  with  a  strong  tone  of 
reproof  in  her  voice,  "how  can  you  speak  so  lightly  of 
death?" 

"Pardon  me,"  replied  Quincy,  "if  I  have  unintentionally 
wounded  your  feelings,  but  after  all  life  is  only  precious 
to  those  who  have  something  to  live  for." 

"But  you  certainly,"  said  Alice,  "can  see  something  in 
life  worth  living  for." 

"Yes,"  assented  Quincy,  "I  can  see  it,  but  I  am  not  sat 
isfied  in  my  own  mind  that  I  shall  ever  be  able  to  possess 
it." 

"Oh,  you  must  work  and  wait  and  hope!"  cried  Alice. 

"I  shall  be  happy  to,"  he  said,  "if  you  will  be  kind  and 
say  an  encouraging  word  to  me,  so  that  I  may  not  grow 
weary  of  the  battle  of  life." 

'    "I  should  be  pleased  to  help  you  all  I  can,"  she  said 
>'  sweetly. 

"I  shall  need  your  help,"  Quincy  remarked  gravely,  and 
then  with  a  quick  change  in  tone  he  said  playfully,  "I 
think  it  is  about  time  for  the  judge  to  get  back  upon  th'e 
bench." 

"This,"  said  Alice,  as  she  passed  him  a  manuscript 
enclosed  in  a  cover,  "is  my  capital  offence.  If  I  escape  pun- 


AFTER  THE   GREAT  SNOWSTORM.  183 

ishment  for  my  other  misdemeanors,  I  know  I  shall  not 
when  you  have  read  this."    And  she  handed  him  the  paper. 
Quincy  opened  it  and  read,  The  Lord  of  the  Sea,  a 
Cantata. 

CHARACTERS. 

Canute,  the  Great,  King  of  England  and  Denmark. 

A  Courtier. 

An  Irish  Harper. 

Queen  Emma,  the  "Flower  of  Normandy." 

Courtiers,  Monks,  and  Gleemen. 

PLACE. 

Part  I. — The  palace  of  the  king. 

Part  ]  I. — The  seashore  at  Southampton. 

Time-  -About  A.  D.  1030. 

As  he  proceeded  with  the  reading  he  became  greatly 
interested  in  it.  He  had  a  fine  voice  and  had  taken  a  prize 
for  oratxny  at  Harvard. 

Wher»  he  finished  he  turned  to  Alice  and  said,  "And  you 
wrote  that?" 

"Cervainly,"  said  she.     "Can  you  forgive  me?" 

Quincy  said  seriously,  "Miss  Pettengill,  that  is  a  fine 
poem;  ir  is  grand  when  read,  but  it  would  be  grander  still 
if  set  tc-  music.  I  can  imagine,"  Quincy  continued,  "how 
those  choruses  would  sound  if  sung  by  the  Handel  and 
Haydt:  Society,  backed  tip  by  a  full  orchestra  and  the  big 
organ."  And  he  sang,  to  an  extemporized  melody  of  his 
cwn,  tlK  words: 

God  bless  the  king  of  the  English, 
The  Lord  of  the  land, 
The  Lord  of  the  seal 


184  QU1NCT  ADAMS  SAWYER. 

"I  can  imagine,"  said  he,  as  he  rose  and  stood  before 
Alice,  "King  Canute  as  a  heavy-voiced  basso.  How  he 
would  bring  out  these  words  1 

Great  sea!  the  land  on  which  I  stand,  is  mine; 
Its  rocky  shores  before  thy  blows  quail  not. 
Thou,  too,  O!  sea,  are  part  of  my  domain, 
And,  like  the  land,  must  bow  to  my  command. 
I'll  sit  me  here!  rise  not,  nor  dare  to  touch, 
With  thy  wet  lips,  the  ermine  of  my  robe! 

"And,"  cried  he,  for  the  moment  overcome  by  ihis  enthu 
siasm,  "how  would  this  sound  sung  in  unison  by  five  hun 
dred  well-trained  voices? 

For  God  alone  is  mighty, 

The  Lord  of  the  sea, 

The  Lord  of  the  land! 

For  He  holds  the  waves  of  the  ocean 

In  the  hollow  of  His  hand, 

And  the  strength  of  the  mightiest  king 

Is  no  more  than  a  grain  of  sand. 

For  God  alone  is  mighty, 

The  Lord  of  the  sea, 

The  Lord  of  the  land!" 

As  Quincy  resumed  his  seat,  Alice  clapped  her  hands 
to  show  her  approbation  of  his  oratorical  effort.  Then 
tney  both  sat  in  silence  for  a  few  minutes,  each  evidently 
absorbed  in  thought. 

Suddenly  Alice  spoke : 

"And  now,  Mr.  Sawyer,  will  you  let  me  ask  you  a  serious 
question?  If  I  continue  writing  pieces  like  these,  can  I 
hope  to  earn  enough  from  it  to  support  myself?" 


AFTER  THE   GREAT   SNOWSTORM.  185 

Quincy  thought  for  a  moment,  and  then  said,  "I  am 
afraid  not.  If  you  would  allow  me  to  take  them  to  Boston 
the  next  time  I  go  I  will  try  and  find  out  their  market 
value,  but  editors  usually  say  that  poetry  is  a  drug,  and 
they  have  ten  times  as  much  offered  them  as  they  can  find 
room  for.  On  the  other  .hand,  stories,  especially  short 
ones,  are  eagerly  sought  and  good  prices  paid  for  them. 
Did  you  ever  think  of  writing  a  story,  Miss  Pettengill?" 

"Oh,  yes!"  said  Alice,  "I  have  several  blocked  out,  I  call 
it,  in  my  own  mind,  'but  it  is  such  a  task  for  me  to  write 
that  I  dare  not  undertake  them.  If  I  could  afford  to  pay 
an  amanuensis  it  would  be  different.'' 

Quincy  comprehended  the  situation  in  a  moment.  "I 
like  to  write,  Miss  Pettengill,"  said  he,  "and  time  hangs 
heavily  upon  my  hands.  We  are  likely  to  have  a  long 
spell  of  winter  weather,  during  which  I  Sihall  be  confined 
to  the  house  as  well  as  yourself.  Take  pity  on  me  and  give 
my  idle  hands  something  to  do." 

"Oh,  it  would  be  too  much  to  ask,"  said  Alice. 

"But  you  have  not  asked,"  answered  Quincy.  "I  have 
offered  you  my  services  without  your  asking." 

"But  when  could  we  begin?"  asked  Alice,  hesitatingly. 

"At  once,"  replied  Quincy.  "I  brought  with  me  from 
Boston  a  'half  ream  of  legal  paper  and  a  dozen  good  pen 
cils.  I  can  write  faster  and  much  better  with  a  pencil  than 
I  can  with  a  pen,  and  as  all  legal  papers  have  to  be  copied, 
I  have  got  into  the  habit  of  using  pencils  for  everything." 

It  took  Quincy  but  a  few  minutes  to  go  to  his  room  and 
'secure  his  paper  and  pencils.  He  drew  a  table  close  to 
Alice's  chair  and  sat  down  beside  her. 

"What  is  the  name  of  the  story?"  asked  he. 

Alice  replied,  "I  have  called  it  in  my  mind,  'How  He  Lost 
Both  Name  and  Fortune.' " 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

A   VISIT  TO   MRS.    PUTNAM. 

IT  must  not  be  supposed  that  Alice's  story  was  written 
out  by  Quincy  in  one  or  even  two  days.  The  oldest 
inhabitants  will  tell  yiou  that  the  great  snowstorm  lasted 
three  days  and  three  nights,  and  it  was  not  till  the  fourth 
day  thereafter  that  the  roads  were  broken  out,  so  that  safe 
travel  between  Eastborough  Centre  and  Mason's  Corner 
became  possible. 

The  day  after  the  storm  the  sad  intelligence  came  to 
Quincy  and  Alice  that  old  Mr.  Putnam  had  passed  quietly 
away  on  the  last  day  O'f  the  storm.  Quincy  attended  the 
funeral,  and  he  could  <not  'help  acknowledging  to  himself 
that  Lindy  Putnam  never  looked  more  beautiful  than  in 
•her  dress  of  plain  black.  The  only  ornament  upon  her 
was  a  pair  of  beautiful  diamond  earrings,  but  she  always 
wrore  them,  and  consequently  they  were  not  obtrusive. 

Quincy  bore  an  urgent  request  from  Mrs.  Putnam  that 
Alice  should  come  to  see  her.  As  the  story  was  finished 
and  copied  on  the  seventh  day  after  the  storm,  Quincy  had 
the  old-fashioned  sleigh  brought  out  and  lined  with  robes. 
Taking  the  horse  Old  Bill,  that  sleigh  bells  or  snow  slides 
could  not  startle  from  his  equanimity,  Alice  was  driven  to 
Mrs.  Putnam's,  and  in  a  few  minutes  was  clasped  to  Mrs. 
Putnam's  bosom,  the  old  lady  crying  and  laughing  by  turns. 

Quincy  thought  it  best  to  leave  them  alone,  and  descend 
ing  the  stairs  he  entered  the  parlor,  the  door  being  halfway 
open.  He  started  back  as  he  saw  a  form  dressed  in  black, 
seated  by  the  window. 

"Come  in,  Mr.  Sawyer,"  said  Lindy.    "I  knew  you  were 


A   VISIT   TO   MRS.   PUTNAM.  13? 

here.  I  saw  you  when  you  drove  up  with  Miss  Pettengiil. 
What  a  beautiful  girl  she  is,  and  what  a  pity  -that  she  is 
blind.  I  hope  with  all  my  heart  that,  she  will  recover  her 
sight." 

"She  would  be  pleased  to  hear  yet'  say  that,"  remarked 
Quincy. 

"We  were  never  intimate,"  said  Lindy.  "You  can  tell 
her  from  me,  you  are  quite  the  gallant  chevalier,  Mr.  Saw 
yer,  and  what  you  say  to  her  will  so.  ind  sweeter  than  if  it 
came  from  other  lips.  Are  you  going  tc  marry  her,  Mr. 
Sawyer?" 

"I  do  not  think  that  our  acquaintance  is  of  such  long 
standing  that  you  are  warranted  in  asking  me  so  personal 
a  question/'  replied  Quincy. 

"Perhaps  not,"  said  Lindy,  "but  as  I  happened  to  know, 
though  not  from  your  telling,  that  she  is  to  be  my  'mother's 
heiress,  I  had  a  little  curiosity  to  learn  whether  you  had 
already  proposed  or  were  going — " 

"Miss  Putnam,"  said  Quincy  sternly,  "do  not  complete 
your  sentence.  Do  not  make  me  think  worse  of  you  than 
I  already  do.  I  beg  your  pardon  for  intruding  upon  you. 
I  certainly  should  not  have  done  so  had  I  anticipated  such 
an  interview.'' 

Lindy  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears.  Her  grief  seemed  un 
controllable.  Quincy  closed  the  parlor  door,  thinking  that 
if  her  cries  and  sobs  were  heard  upstairs  it  would  require 
a  double  explanation,  which  it  might  be  -hard  for  him  to 
give. 

He  stood  and  looked  at  the  weeping  girl.  She  had  evi 
dently  known  all  along  who  her  mother's  heiress  was.  She 
had  been  fooling  him,  but  for  what  reason?  Was  she  In 
love  with  him?  No,  he  did  not  think  so;  if  she  h'ad  been 
she  would  have  confided  in  him  rather  than  have  sought 
to  force  him  to  confide  in  her.  What  could  be  the  motive 
for  her  action?  Quincy  was  nonplussed.  He  had  had 


188  QUINCY  ADAMS    SAWYER 

considerable  experience  with  society  girls,  but  they  either 
relied  upon  languid  grace  or  light  repartee.  They  never 
used  tears  either  for  offence  or  defence. 

A  surprise  was  in  store  for  Quincy.  Lindy  rose  from 
her  chair  and.  came  towards  him,  her  eyes  red  with  weep 
ing. 

"Why  do  you  hate  me  so,  Mr.  Sawyer?"  she  asked. 
"Why  will  you  not  be  a  friend  to  me,  when  I  need  one  so 
much?  What  first  turned  you  against  me?" 

Quincy  replied,  "I  will  tell  you,  Miss  Putnam.  They  told 
me  you  were  ashamed  of  your  father  and  mother  because 
they  were  old-fashioned  country  people  and  did  not  dress 
as  well  or  talk  as  good  English  as  you  did." 

"Who  told  you  so?"  asked  Lindy. 

"It  was  common  talk  in  the  village,"  he  replied. 

"I  should  think  you  had  suffered  enough  from  village 
gossip,  Mr.  Sawyer,  not  to  believe  that  all  that  is  said  is 
true." 

Quincy  winced  and  colored.  It  was  a  keen  thrust  and 
went  home. 

"Where  tihere  is  so  much  smoke  there  must  be  some 
fire,"  he  answered,  rather  lamely,  as  he  thought,  even  to 
himself. 

"Mr.  Sawyer,  when  I  asked  you  to  tell  me  a  little  secret 
you  had  in  your  possession,  you  refused.  I  wanted  a 
friend,  but  I  also  wanted  a  proven  friend.  No  doubt  I 
took  the  wrong  way  to  win  your  friendship,  but  I  am  going 
to  tell  you  something,  Mr.  Sawyer,  if  you  will  listen  to 
me,  that  will  at  least  secure  your  pity  for  one  who  is  rich 
in  wealth  but  poor  in  that  she  has  no  friends  to  whom  she 
can  confide  .her  troubles." 

Quincy  saw  that  he  was  in  for  it,  and  like  a  gentleman, 
determined  to  make  the  best  of  it,  ®o  he  said,  "Miss  Put 
nam,  I  will  listen  to  your  story,  and  if,  after  hearing  it,  I 
can  'honorably  aid  you  I  will  do  so  with  pleasure." 


A   VISIT   TO  MRS.   PUTNAM.  iS9 

Lindy  took  his  hand,  which  he  had  'half  extended,  and 
said,  "'Come,  sit  down,  Mr.  Sawyer.  It  is  a  long  story, 
and  I  am  nervous  and  tired,"  and  she  looked  down  at  her 
black  dress. 

They  sat  upon  the  sofa,  he  at  one  end,  she  at  the  other. 

"Mr.  Sawyer,"  she  'began  abruptly,  "I  am  not  a  natural- 
born  child  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Putnam.  I  was  adopted  by* 
them  when  but  two  years  of  age.  I  do  not  know  who  my 
father  and  mother  were.  I  am  sure  Mrs.  Putnam  knows, 
but  she  will  not  tell  me." 

"It  could  do  no  (harm  now  that  you  are  a  woman  grown," 
said  Ouincy. 

"At  first  they  both  loved  me/'  Lindy  continued,  "but  a 
year  after  I  came  here  to  live  their  son  was  born,  and  from 
that  time  on  all  was  changed.  Mr.  Putnam  was  never 
unkind  to  me  but  once,  but  Mrs.  Putnam  seemed  to  take 
delight  in  blaming  me,  and  tormenting  me,  and  nagging 
me,  until  it  is  a  wonder  that  my  disposition  is  as  good  as  it 
is,  and  you  know  it  is  not  very  good,"  said  she  to  Quincy 
with  a  little  smile.  She  resumed  her  story:  "I  loved  the 
little  boy,  Jones  I  always  called  him,  and  'as  we  grew  up 
together  he  learned  to  love  me  and  took  my  part,  although 
he  was  three  years  younger  than  myself.  This  fact  made 
Mrs.  Putnam  'hate  me  more  than  ever.  He  stayed  at  nome 
until  he  was  (twenty-two,  then  he  went  to  ihis  father  and 
mother  and  told  them  that  he  loved  me  and  wished  to  marry 
me.  Both  Mr.  and  M'rs.  Putnam  flew  into  a  great  rage  at 
this.  The  idea  of  a  brother  marrying  his  sister!  They  said 
it  was  a  crime  and  a  sacrilege,  and  the  vengeance  of  God 
would  surely  fall  upon  us  both.  Jones  told  them  he  had 
written  to  a  lawyer  in  Boston,  and  he  had  replied  that  there 
was  no  law  prohibiting  such  a  marriage.  'But  the  law  of 
God  shines  before  you  like  a  flaming  sword/  said  Mrs. 
Putnam;  and  Mr.  Putnam  agreed  with  'her,  for  she  had  all 
his  property  in  her  possession."  Quincy  smiled.  "They 


190  QUINCY  ADAMS    SAWYEK. 

packed  Jones  off  to  the  city  at  once,"  said  Lindy,  "and  his 
mother  gave  him  five  thousand  dollars  to  go  into  business 
with.  Jones  began  speculating,  and  he  wa?  successful  from 
first  to  last.  In  three  months  he  paid  back  the  five  thou 
sand  dollars  his  mother  had  given  him,  and  he  never  took 
a  dollar  from  them  after  that  day.  At  twenty-six  he  was 
worth  one  hundred  thousand  dollars.  When  I  went  to  Bos 
ton  I  always  saw  him,  and  he  at  last  told  me  he  could  stand 
it  no  longer.  He  wanted  me  to1  marry  him  and  go  to 
Europe  with  him.  I  told  him  I  must  have  a  week  to  think 
it  over.  If  I  decided  to  go  I  would  be  in  Boston  on  a  cer 
tain  day.  I  would  bring  my  trunk  and  would  stop  at  a 
certain  hotel  and  send  word  for  him  to>  come  to  me.  I  used 
all  possible  secrecy  in  getting  my  clothes  ready,  and  packed 
them  away,  as  I  thought,  unnoticed,  in  my  trunk,  which  was 
in  the  attic.  Mrs.  Putnam  must  have  suspected  that  I 
intended  to  leave  home,  and  she  knew  that  I  would  not  go 
unless  to  meet  her  son.  The  day  before  I  planned  going  to 
Boston,  or  rather  the  night  before,  she  entered  my  room 
while  I  was  asleep,  took  every  particle  of  my  clothing,  with 
the  exception  of  one  house  dress  and  a  pair  of  slippers, 
and  locked  me  in.  They  kept  me1  there  for  a  week,  and  I 
wished  that  I  'had  died  there,  for  when  they  came  to  me  it 
was  to  tell  me  that  Jones  was  dead,  and  I  was  the  cause 
of  it.  I  who  loved  him  so!"  And  the  girl's  eyes  filled  with 
tears. 

"What  was  the  cause  of  his  death?"  asked  Quincy. 

"He  was  young,  healthy,  and  careless/'  answered  Lindy. 
"He  took  a  bad  cold  and  it  developed  into  lung  fever. 
Even  then  he  claimed  it  was  nothing  and  would  not  see  a 
doctor.  One  morning  he  did  not  come  to  the  office,  his 
clerk  went  to  his  room,  but  when  the  doctor  was  called  it 
was  too  late.  It  was  very  sad  that  he  should  die  so,  believ 
ing  that  I  had  refused  to  go  with  him,  when  I  would  have 
given  my  life  for  liim.  He  loved  me  till  death.  He  left 


A  VISIT  TO  MRS.  PUTNAM.  191 

me  all  his  money,  but  in  his  will  he  expressed  the  wish  that 
I  would  never  accept  a  dollar  from  his  parents.  So  now 
you  see  why  Mrs.  Putnam  does  not  make  me  'her  heiress. 
You  think  I  hate  Miss  Pettengill  because  she  is  going  to 
give  it  to  her,  but  truly  I  do  not,  Mr.  Sawyer.  What  I 
said  when  you  came  in  I  really  meant,  and  I  hope  you  will 
be  happy,  Mr.  Sawyer,  even  as  I  hoped  to  be  years  ago." 

Quincy  had  been  greatly  interested  in  Lindy's  story,  and 
that  feeling  of  sympathy  for  the  unhappy  and  suffering' 
that  always  shows  itself  in  a  true  gentleman  rose  strongly 
in  his  breast. 

"Miss  Putnam,"  said  he,  "I  have  wronged  you  both  in 
thought  and  action,  but  I  never  suspected  what  you  have 
told  me.  Will  you  forgive  me  and  allow  me  to  be  your 
friend?  I  will  try  to  atone  in  the  future  for  my  misdoings 
in  the  past." 

He  extended  his  hand,  and  Lindy  laid  hers  in  his. 

"I  care  not  for  the  past,"  said  she.  "I  will  forget  that.  I 
have  also  to  ask  for  forgiveness.  I,  too,  have  said  and  done 
many  things  which  I  would  not  have  said  or  done,  but  for 
womanly  spite  and  vanity.  You  see  my  excuse  is  not  so 
good  as  yours,"  said  she,  as  she  smiled  through  'her  tears. 

"In  what  way  can  I  serve  you?"  asked  Quincy.  "Why 
do  you  not  go  to  Boston  and  live?  I  could  introduce  you 
to  many  pleasant  families." 

"What!"  cried  Lindy.  "Me,  a  waif  and  a  stray!  You 
are  too  kind-hearted,  Mr.  Sawyer.  I  shall  not  leave  the 
woman  every  one  but  you  thinks  to  be  my  mother.  When; 
she  is  dead  I  shall  leave  Eastborough  never  to  return.  My 
sole  object  in  life  from  that  day  will  be  to  find  some  trace 
of  my  parents  or  relatives.  Now  it  may  'happen  that 
through  Mrs.  Putnam  or  Miss  Pettengill  you  may  get 
some  clew  that  will  help  me  in  my  search.  It  is  for  this 
that  I  wish  a  friend,  and  I  have  a  presentiment  .that  some 
day  you  will  be  able  to  help  me." 


192  QUINCY  ADAMS  SAWYER. 

Quincy  assured  her  that  if  it  lay  in  his  power  any  time 
to  be  of  assistance  to  .her,  she  could  count  upon  him. 

"By  tihe  way,  Miss  Putnam,"  said  he,  <show  did  your  in 
vestment  with  Foss  &  Follansbee  turn  out?  I  heard  a 
rumor  that  the  stock  fell,  and  you  lost  considerable 
money." 

Lindy  flushed  painfully.  "It  did  drop,  Mr.  Sawyer,  but 
it  rallied  again,  as  you  call  it,  and  when  they  sold  out  for  me 
I  made  nearly  five  thousand  dollars ;  but,"  <and  she  looked 
pleadingly  uip  into  Quincy's  face,  "you  have  forgiven  me 
for  that  as  well  as  for  my  other  wrong  doings." 

"For  (everything  up  to  date,"  said  Quincy,  laughing. 

!At  that  instant  a  loud  pounding  was  'heard  on  the  floor 
above. 

"Mrs.  Putnam  is  knocking  Cor  you,"  said  Lindy.  "Miss 
Pettengill  must  be  ready  to  go  home.  Good-by,  Mr.  Saw 
yer,  and  do  not  forget  your  unhappy  friend." 

"I  promise  to  remember  her  and  her  quest,"  said  Quincy. 

He  gave  the  little  hand  extended  to  him  a  slight  pressure 
amd  nan  up  the  stairs.  As  he  did  so  he  'heard  the  parlor 
dioor  close  behind  him. 

As  they  were  driving  home,  Alice  several  times  took  what 
appeared  to  be  a  letter  from  her  muff  and  held  it  up  as 
though  trying  to  read  it.  Quincy  glanced  towards  her. 

"Mr.  Sawyer,  can  you  keep  a  secret?"  asked  Alice. 

"I  have  a  big  one  on  my  mind  now,"  replied  Quincy, 
"that  I  would  like  to  confide  to  some  one." 

"Why  don 'it  you?"  asked  Alice. 

"As  soon  as  I  can  find  a  person  whom  I  think  can  fully 
sympathize  with  me  I  shall  do  so,  but  for  the  present  I 
must  bear  my  tmrdien  in  silence,"  said  he. 

"I  hope  you  wiU  not  have  <to  wait  long  before  finding 
that  sympathetic  friend,"  remarked  Alice. 

"I  hope  so,  too,"  he  replied.    "But  I  have  not  answered 


A   VISIT  TO  MRS.   PUTNAM.  19* 

your  question,  Miss  Pettengill.  If  I  can  serve  you  by 
sharing  a  secret  with  you,  at  shall  be  safe  with  me." 

"Will  you  promise  not  to  speak  of  it,  not  even  -to  me?'* 
she  asked. 

"If  you  wish  it  I  will  promise,"  he  answered. 

"Then  please  read  to  me  what  is  written  on  that 
envelope."  (• 

Quincy  looked  at  the  envelope.  "It  is  written  in  an  old- 
fashioned,  cramped  hand,"  he  said,  "and  the  writing  is  'con 
fided  to  Miss  Alice  Pettengill,  and  to  be  destroyed  without 
being  read  by  her  within  twenty-four  hours  after  my  death. 
Hepsibeth  Putnam.'  *' 

"Thank  you,"  said  Alice  simply,  and  she  replaced  the 
envelope  in  her  muff. 

Like  a  flash  of  lightning  the  thought  came  to  Quincy 
that  the  letter  to  be  destroyed  'had  some  connection  with 
the  strange  story  so  recently  told  'him  by  Lindy.  He  must 
take  some  action  in  the  matter  before  it  was  too>  late. 
Turning  to  Alice  he  staid,  "Miss  Pettengill,  if  I  make  a 
strange  request  of  you,  which  you  can  easily  grant,  will  you 
do  it,  and  not  ask  me  for  any  explanation  until  after  you 
have  complied?" 

"You  -have  •worded  your  inquiry  so  carefully,  Mr.  Sawyer, 
that  I  am  a  little  afraid  of  you,  you  being  a  lawyer,  but  as 
you  have  so  graciously  consented  to  keep  a  secret  with  me, 
I  will  trust  you  and  will  promise  to  comply  with  your 
request." 

"All  I  ask  is,"  said  Quincy,  "that  before  you  destroy  that 
letter,  you  will  let  me  read  to  you  once  more  what  is  written 
upon  the  envelope." 

"Why,  certainly,"  said  Alice,  "how  oould  I  refuse  so 
harmless  a  request  as  that?" 

"I  am  greatly  obliged  for  your  kindness,"  said  Quincy 
to  her;  but  he  thought  to  himself,  "I  will  find'  out  what  is 
in  that  envelope,  if 'there  is  any  'honorable  way  of  doing  so." 


i94  QUINCY  ADAMS  SAWYER, 

Hiram  came  over  -to  see  Mandy  .that  evening,  and  Mrs, 
Crowley,  who  was  in  the  best  of  spirits,  sang  several  old- 
time  Irish  songs  to  them,  Hiram  and  Mandy  joining  in  the 
choruses.  They  were  roasting  big  red  apples  on  the  top  of 
the  stove  and  chestnuts  in  the  oven.  Quincy,  attracted  by 
the  singing,  came  dlownstairs  to  the  kitchen,  and  was  invited 
to  join  in  the  simple  feast.  He  then  asked  Mrs.  Crowley  to 
sing  for  him,  which  -she  did,  and  he  repaid  her  by  singing, 
"The  Harp  That  Once  Tihro'  Tara's  Halls"  so  sweetly  that 
tears  coursed  down  the  old  woman's  cheeks,  and  she  said, 
"My  poor  boy  Tom,  that  was  killed  in  the  charge  at  Bala- 
klava,  used  to  sing  just  like  that." 

Then  the  poor  woman  began  weeping  so  violently  that 
IMandy  coaxed  her  off  to  bed  and  left  the  room  with  her. 

Wihen  HLram  and  Quincy  were  alone  together,  the  latter 
said:  "Any  news,  Hiram?" 

"Not  much,"  replied  Hiram.  "The  snow  is  too  deep,  and 
it's  too  darned  cold  for  the  boys  to  travel  'round  and  do 
much  gossipin'  this  weather,  A  notice  is  pasted  up  on  Hill's 
grocery  that  it'll  be  sold  by  auction  next  Tuesday  ait  three 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon.  And  I  got  on  to  one  bit  of  news. 
Strout  and  'his  friends  are  goin'  to  give  Huldy  Mason  a  sur 
prise  party.  They  have  invited  me  and  Mandy  simply  be 
cause  they  want  you  to  hear  all  about  it.  But  they  don't 
propose  to  invite  you,  nor  'Zeke,  nor  his  sister." 

"Has  Strout  got  'anybody  to  back  him  up  on  buying  the 
grocery  store?''  asked  Quincy. 

"Yes,"  said  Hiram,  "he  has  got  two  thousand  dollars 
pledged,  and  I  'hear  he  wants  five  hundred  dollars  more. 
He  don't  think  die  whole  thing  will  run  over  twenty  five 
hundred  dollars.'' 

"How  much  is  to  be  paid  in  cash?"  Quincy  inquired, 

"Five  hundred  dollars,"  said  Hiram;  "and  that's  what 
troubles  Strout.  His  friends  will  endorse  his  notes  and 
a  mortgage  on  the  store,  for  they  know  it's  a  good' 


A  VISIT  TO   MKS.   PUTNAM*  £9£ 

payin'  business.  They  expect  to  get  their  money  back  with 
good  interest,  but  it  comes  kinder  hard  on  them  to  plunk 
down  five  hundred  dollars  in  cold  cash." 

At  that  moment  Mandy  returned,  and  after  asking  her 
for  a  spoon  and  a  plate  upon  which  to  take  a  roast  apple  and 
some  chestnuts  upstairs,  Quincy  left  the  young  couple 
together.  As  'he  sat  before  the  fire  enjoying  his  lunch,  h>e 
resolved  that  he  would  buy  that  grocery  store,  cost  what  it 
might,  and  that  'Zeke  Pettengill,  Alice,  and  himself  would 
go  to  that  surprise  iparty. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

THE  NEW   DOCTOR. 

QUINCY  improved  the  first  opportunity  offered  for 
sate  travelling  to  make  a  visit  to  the  city.  He  had 
several  matters  to  'attend  to.  First,  he  had  not  sent  his 
letter  to  his  friend,  (requesting  ham  to  make  inquiries  as  to 
Obadiah  Sbrout's  war  record,  for  the  great  snowstorm  had 
come  the  day  after  he  had  written  it.  Second,  tfie  was  going 
to  take  Alice's  story  to  show  to  a  literary  friend,  and  see  if 
he  could  secure  its  publication.  And  this  was  not  all ;  Alice 
had  told  ;him,  after  he  had  finished  copying  .the  story  she 
had  dictated  to  him,  that  she  had  written  several  other  short 
stories  during  the  past  two  years. 

In  response  to  his  urgent  request,  she  allowed  him  to 
read  her  treasured  manuscripts.  Tihe  first  was  a  passionate 
love  story  in  which  a  young  Spanish  officer,  stationed  on 
the  island  of  Cuba,  and  a  beautiful  young  Cuban  girl  were 
the  principals.  It  was  entitled  "Her  Native  Land,"  and 
was  replete  with  startling  situations  and  effective  tableaus. 
Quincy  was  delighted  with  it,  and  told  Alice  if  dramatized 
it  would  make  a  fine  acting  play.  This  was,  of  course,  very 
pleasing  to  the  young  author.  Quincy  was  her  amanuensis, 
her  audience,  and  iher  critic,  and  she  knew  that  in  his  eyes 
she  was  already  a  success. 

She  also  gave  'him  to  read  a  series  of  eight  stories,  in  a 
line  usually  esteemed  quite  foreign  to  feminine  instincts. 
Alice  had  conceived  the  idea  of  a  young  man,  physically 
weak  and  suffering  from  nervous  debility,  being  left  an 
immense  fortune  at  the  age  of  twenty-tone.  His  money  was 
well  invested,  and  in  company  with  a  faithful  attendant  he 
travelled  for  fifteen  years,  covering  every  nook  and  corner 


THE  XEW  DOCTOR.  191 

of  the  habitable  globe.  At  thirty-six  he  returned  home 
much  improved  in  health,  but  still  having  a  marked  aversion 
to  engaging  in  'any  business  pursuit.  A  mysterious  case 
and  its  solution  having  been  related  to  :him,  >he  resolved  to 
devote  his  income,  now  amounting1  to  a  million  dollars 
yearly,  to  amateur  detective  work.  His  great  desire  was 
to  ferret  out  and  solve  mysteries,  murders,  suicides,  rob 
beries,  and  disappearances  that  baffled  the  police  and 
eluded  their  vigilant  inquiry. 

The  titles  that  Alice  had  chosen  for  her  stories  were  as 
mysterious,  in  their  way,  as  the  stories  themselves.  Ar 
ranged  in  /the  order  of  their  writing,  they  were:  Was  it 
Signed?  The  Man  Without  a  Tongue;  He  Thought  He 
Was  Dead;  The  Eight  of  Spades;  The  Exit  of  Mrs.  Del* 
monnay;  How  I  Caught  the  Fare-Bugs;  The  Hot  Hand; 
and  The  Mystery  of  Unreaohable  Island. 

When  Quincy  readied  the  city,  his  first  visit  was  to  his 
father's  office,  but  he  found  him  absent.  He  was  told  that 
he  was  conducting  a  case  in  the  Equity  Session  of  the 
Supreme  Court,  and  would  not  return  to  the  office  that 
day. 

Instead  of  leaving  his  letter  at  his  friend's  office,  be  went 
directly  to  the  Adjutant-General's  office  at  the  State  House. 
Here  he  found  that  an  acquaintance  of  his  was  employed 
as  a  clerk.  He  was  of  foreign  birth,  but  had  served  gal 
lantly  through  ithe  war  and  had  left  an  arm  upon  the  battle 
field.  He  made  'his  request  for  a  copy  of  the  war  record  of 
Obadiah  Strout,  of  the  — th  Mass.  Volunteers.  Then  a 
thought  came  suddenly  to  'him  and  he  requested  one  also 
of  the  record  of  Hiram  Maxwell  of  the  same  regiment. 

Leaving  the  State  House  on  the  Hancock  Avenue  side, 
he  walked  down  that  narrow  but  convenient  thoroughfare, 
and  was  standing  at  its  entrance  to  the  sidewalk  on  Beacon 
Street,  debating  which  publisher  he  would  call  on  first, 
when  a  cheery  voice  said,  ''Hello,  Sawyer."  When  he 


198  QUIXCY  ADAMS  SAWYER. 

looked  up  he  saw  an  old  Latin  School  and  college  chum, 
named  Leopold  Ernst.  Ernst  was  a  Jew,  but  -he  had  been 
one  of  the  smartest  and  most  popular  of  the  'boys  in  school 
and  of  Che  men  at  Harvard. 

"What  are  you  up  to?'*  asked  Ernst. 

"Living  on  my  small  fortune  and  my  father's  bounty," 
said  Quincy.  "Nat  a  very  creditable  record,  I  know,  but 
my  liealth  has  niot  been  very  good,  and  I  have  been  resting 
for  a  couple  of  months  in  the  country." 

"Not  much  going  on  in  the  country  at  this  time  of  the 
year  I  fancy,"  remarked  Ernst. 

"That's  wihere  you  are  wrong,"  said  Quincy.  "There 
has  been  the  devil  to  pay  ever  since  I  landed  in  the  town, 
and  I've  got  mixed  up  in -so  many  complications  that  I  don't 
expect  to  get  back  to  town  before  next  Christmas.  But 
what  are  you  doing,  Ernst?" 

"Oh,  I  am  in  for  literature;  not  the  kind  that  consists  in 
going  round  with  a  notebook  and  prying  into  people's  busi 
ness,  with  a  hope  one  day  of  becoming  an  editor,  and  work 
ing  twenty  hours  out  of  the  twenty-four  each  day.  Not  a 
bit  of  it,  I  am  reader  for  — • — ;"  and  he  mentioned  the  name 
of  a  large  publishing  house.  "I  have  my  own  hours  and  a 
comfortable  salary.  I  sit  like  Solomon  upon  the  efforts 
of  callow  authors  and  the  productions  of  ripened  genius. 
Sometimes  I  discover  a  diamond  in  the  rough,  and  introduce 
a  new  star  to  the  literary  firmament;  and  at  other  times  I 
cut  up  some  egotistical  old  writer,  who  thinks  anything  he 
turns  out  wall  be  sure  to  please  the  public." 

"How  fortunate  that  I  have  met  you?"  said  Quincy. 
"I  have  in  this  little  carpet  bag  tlie  first  effusions  of  one  of 
those  callow  authors  of  whom  you  spoke.  She  is  poor, 
beautiful,  and  blind." 

"Don't  try  to  trade  on  my  sympathies,  old  boy,"  said 
Ernst.  "No  person  who  is  poor  has  any  right  to  become 
an  author.  It  tabes  too  long  in  these  days  to  make  a  hitt 


THE   NEW  DOCTOR.  199 

and  the  poor  author  is  bound  to  die  before  the  hit  comes. 
The  'beautiful'  gag  don't  work  with  me  at  all.  The  best 
authors  are  homelier  .than  sin  and  it's  a  pity  that  their  pic 
tures  are  'ever  published.  As  regards  the  'blind'  part,  that 
may  be  an  advantage,  for  dictating  relieves  one  of  the 
drudgery  of  writing  one's  self,  and  gives  one  a  chance  for 
a  fuller  play  of  one's  fancies  than  if  tied  to  a  piece  of  wood, 
a  scratchy  pen,  and  a  bottle  of  thick  ink." 

"Then  you  won't  look  at  them,"  said  Quincy. 

"I  didn't  say  so,"  replied  Ernst  "Of  course,  I  can't 
look  at  them  in  a  business  way,  unless  .they  are  duly  sub 
mitted  to  my  house,  but  I  have  been  reading  a  very  badly 
written,  but  mightily  interesting  'manuscript,  for  the  past 
two  days  and  a  half,  and  I  want  a  change  of  work  or  diver 
sion,  to  brush  up  my  wits.  Now,  old  fellow,"  said  'he,  taking 
Quincy  by  the  arm,  "if  you  will  come  up  to  the  club  with 
me,  and  have  a  good  dinner  with  some  Chianti,  and  a  glass 
or  two  of  champagne,  and  a  pousse  cafe  to  finish  up  with, 
then  we  will  go  up  to  my  rooms  on  Chestnut  Street — I  'have 
a  whole  top  floor  to  myself — we  will  light  up  our  cigars, 
and  you  may  read  to  me  till  to-morrow  morning  and  I 
won't  murmur.  But,  mind  you,  if  the  'Stories  are  mighty 
poor  I  may  go  to  sleep,  and  if  I  do  that,  you  migiht  as  well 
go  to  'bed  too',  for  when  I  once  go  to  sleep  I  never  wake 
up  till  I  get  good  and  ready." 

Quincy  had  intended  after  seeing  a  publisher  to  leave  the 
manuscripts  for  examination,  then  to  take  tea  with,  his 
mother  and  sisters,  and  go  back  to  Eastborough  on  the 
five  minutes  past  six  'express.  But  he  was  prone  to  yield  to 
fate,  which  is  simply  circumstances,  and  he  accepted  his  old 
college  chum's  invitation  with  alacrity.  He  could  get  the 
opinion  of  an  expert  speedily,  and  that  fact  carried  the  day 
with  him. 

When  they  were  comfortably  ensconced  in  their  easy- 
chairs  on  the  top  floor,  and  the  cigars  lighted,  Quincy  com- 


200  QUINCY  ADAMS   SAWYER. 

menced  reading.  Leopold  had  previously  shown  him  his 
suite,  which  consisted  of  a  parlor,  or  rather  a  sitting^oom,  a 
library,  which  included  principally  the  works  of  standard 
authors  and  reference  books,  his  sleeping  apartment,  and 
a  bathroom. 

There  was  a  large  bed  lounge  in  the  sitting-room,  and 
Quincy  determined  to  read  every  story  in  his  carpet  bag, 
if  it  took  him  all  night.  He  commenced  with  the  series  of 
detective  or  mystery  stories.  He  had  read  them  over  before 
and  was  able  to  bring  out  their  strong  points  oratorically, 
for,  as  k  has  been  said  before,  he  was  a  fine  speaker. 

Quincy  eyed  Ernst  over  -the  cornier  of  the  manuscript  he 
was  reading,  but  the  latter  understood  his  business.  Occa 
sionally  he  was  betrayed  into  a  nod  of  approval  and  several 
times  shook  his  head  in  a  negative  way,  but  he  uttered  no 
word  of  commendation  or  disapproval. 

After  several  of  the  stories  had  'been  read,  Ernst  called 
a  halt,  and  going  to  a  cupboard  brought  out  some  crackers, 
cake,  and  a  decanter  of  wine,  with  glasses,  which  he  put 
upon  a  table,  and  placed  within  comfortable  reach  of  both 
reader  and  listener.  Then  he  said,  "Go  ahead,"  munched 
a  cracker,  sipped  his  wine,  and  then  lighted  a  fresh  cigar. 

When  the  series  was  finished,  Leopold  said,  "Now  we 
will  have  some  tea.  I  do  a  good  deal  of  my  reading  at 
home,  and  I  don't  like  to  go  out  again  after  I  'have  crawled 
up  four  flights  of  stairs,  so  my  landlady  sends  me  up  a 
light  supper  at  just  about  this  hour.  There  is  the  maid 
now,"  as  a  light  knock  was  heard  on  the  door. 

Leopold  opened  it,  and  the  domestic  brought  in  a  tray 
with  a  pot  of  tea  and  the  ingredients  of  a  light  repast, 
which  she  placed  upon  another  table  near  a  window. 

"There  is  always  enough  for  two,"  said  Leopold.  "Read 
ing  is  mighty  tiresome  work,  and  listening  is  too,  and  a  cup 
of  good  strong  tea  will  brighten  us  both  up  immensely. 


THE  NEW  DOCTOR.  201 

You  can  come  back  for  the  tray  in  fifteen  minutes,  Jennie," 
said  Ernst. 

The  supper  was  finished,  the  tray  removed,  and)  the  critic 
sat  in  judgment  once  more  upon  the  words  that  fell  from 
the  reader's  lips.  Leopold's  face  lighted  up  during  the 
reading  of  "Her  Native  Land."  He  started  to  speak,  and 
the  word  "That's* — "  escaped  him,  but  'he  recovered  himself 
and  said  no  more,  though  he  listened  intently. 

Quincy  .took  a  glass  of  wine  and  a  cracker  before  start 
ing  upon  the  story  which  had  been  dictated  to  him.  Leo 
pold  gave  no  sign  of  falling  asleep,  but  patted  his  hands 
lightly  together  at  certain  points  in  the  story,  whether 
contemplatively  or  approvingly  Quincy  could  not  deter 
mine.  As  he  read  the  dosing  lines  of  the  last  manuscript 
the  cuckoo  clock  struck  twelve,  midnight. 

"You  are  a  mighty  good  reader,  Qudncy,"  said1  Leo 
pold,  "and  barring  fifteen  minutes  for  refreshments,  you 
have  been  ait  it  ten  hours.  Now  you  want  my  opinion  of 
those  stories,  and  what's  more,  you  want  -my  advice  as  to 
the  best  place  to  put  them  to  secure  their  approval  and 
early  publication.  Now  I  am  going  to  smoke  a  cigar  quietly 
and  think  the  whole  thing  over,  and'  at  half  past  twelve  I 
will  give  you  my  opinion  in  writing.  I  am  going  into  my 
library  for  half  an  hour  to  write  down  what  I  have  to  say. 
You  take  a  nap  on  the  lounge  there,  and  you  will  be  re 
freshed  when  I  come  back  after  having  made  mince  meat 
of  your  poor,  beautiful,  blind protege." 

Leopold  disappeared  into  the  library,  and  Quincy 
stretching  himself  on  the  lounge,  rested,  but  did  not  sleep. 
Before  he  had  realized  that  ten  minutes  had  passed,  Leopold 
stood  beside  him  with  a  letter  sheet  in  his  hand,  and  said, 
"Now,  Quincy,  read  this  to  me,  and  I  will  see  if  I  have 
got  it  down  straight." 

Quincy's  hand  trembled  nervously  as  he  seated  himself 


202  QUINCY  ADAMS  SAWYEK. 

in  his  old  position  and  turning  the  sheet  so  that  the  light 
would  fall  upon  it,  he  read  the  following: 

Opinion  of  Leopold  Ernst,  Literary  Critic,  of  certain 
manuscripts  submitted  for  examination  by  Quincy  A.  Saw 
yer,  with  some  advice  gratis. 

1.  Series  of  eight  stories.     Mighty  clever  general  idea; 
good  stories  well  written.    Same  style  maintained  through 
out;  good  plots.    Our  house  could  not  handle  them — not 

of  our  line.    Send  to .    (Here  followed  the  name  of  a 

New  York  publisher.)      I  will  write  Cooper,  one  of  their 
readers.    He  is  a  friend  of  mine,  and  will  secure  quick  de 
cision,  which,  I  prophesy,  wfill  be  favorable. 

2.  "Her  Native  Land"  is  a  fine  story.    I  can  get  it  into  a 
weekly  literary  paper  that  our  house  publishes.     1  know 
Jameson,  the  reader,  will  take  it,  especially  if  you  would 
give  him  the  right  to  dramatize  it.     He  is  hand  and  glove 
with  all  the  theatre  managers  and  'has  had  several  successes. 

3.  That  story  about  the  Duke,  I  want  for  our  magazine. 
It  lis  capital,  and  has  enough  meat  in  it  to  make  a  full-blown 
novel.     All  it  wants  is  oysters,  soup,  fish,  entrees,  and  a 
dessert  prefixed  to  and  joined  on  to  the  solid  roast  and 
game  which  the  story  as  now  written  itself  supplies. 

In  Witness  Whereof,  I  have  hereunto  set  my  hand,  this 
24th  day  of  February,  186 — . 

LEOPOLD  ERNST,  Literary  Critic. 

Quincy  remained  all  night  with  Leopold,  sleeping  on  the 
bed  lounge  in  the  sitting-room.  He  was  up  at  six  o'clock 
the  next 'morning,  'but  found  that  his  friend  was  also  an  early 
riser,  for  on  entering  the  library  he  saw  the  latter  seated 
at  his  desk  regarding  the  pile  of  manuscript  which  Quincy 
had  read  to  him. 

Leopold  looked  up  with  a  peculiar  expression  on  his  face. 

"What's  the  matter,"  asked  Quincy,  "changing  your 
mind?" 


THE  NEW  DOCTOR.  203 

"No,"  said  Leopold,  "I  never  do  that,  it  would  spoil  my 
value  as  a  reader  if  I  did.  My  decisions  are  as  fixed  as 
the  laws  of  the  Medes  and  Persians,  and  are  regarded  by 
literary  aspirants  as  being  quite  as  severe  as  the  statutes  of 
Draco ;  but  the  fact  is,  Quincy,  you  and  your  protege — you 
see  I  'consider  you  equally  culpable — have  'neglected  to 
put  any  real  name  or  pseudonym  to  these  interesting  stories. 
Of  course  I  can  affix  the  name  of  the  moist  popular  author 
that  the  world  has  ever  known, — Mr.  Anonymous, — 'but  you 
two  probably  have  some  pet  name  that  you  wish  immor 
talized." 

"By  George!"  cried  Quincy,  "we  did  forget  that.  I  will 
talk  it  over  with  her,  and  -send  you  the  nom  de  plume  by 
mail. 

"Very  well,"  said  Leopold,  rising.  "And  now  let  us  go 
and  have  some  breakfast." 

"My  dear  fellow,  you  must  excuse  me.  I  have  not  seen 
my  parents  this  trip,  and  I  ought  to  go  up  to  the  house  and 
take  breakfast  with  the  family." 

"All  right,"  said  Leopold,  "rush  that  pseudonym  right 
along,  so  I  can  send  the  manuscripts  to  Cooper.  And  don't 
forget  to  drop  in  and  see  me  next  time  you  come  to  the 
city." 

On  his  way  to  Beacon  Street  Quincy  suddenly  stopped 
and  regarded  a  sign  that  read,  Paul  Culver,  M.  D.,  physician 
and  surgeon.  He  knew  Culver,  but  hadn't  seen  him  for 
•eight  years.  They  were  in  the  Latin  School  together  under 
pater  Gardner.  He  rang  the  bell  and  was  shown  into  Dr. 
Culver's  office,  and  in  a  few  minutes  his  old  schoolmate  en 
tered.  Paul  Culver  was  a  tall,  broad-chested,  heavily-built 
young  man,  with  frank  blue  eyes,  and  hair  of  the  color  that 
is  sometimes  irreverently  called,  or  rather  the  wearers  of 
it  are  called,  towheads. 

They  had  a  pleasant  talk  over  old  school  days  and  college 
experiences,  which  were  not  identical,  for  Paul  had  grad- 


204 

uated  from  Yale  College  at  his  father's  desire,  instead  of 
from  Harvard.  Then  Quincy  broached  what  was  upper- 
most  in  <his  mind  and  which  had  been  the  real  reason  for 
his  call.  He  stated  briefly  the  facts  concerning  Alice's  case, 
and  asked  Paul's  advice. 

Dr.  Culver  sat  for  a  few  moments  apparently  in  deep 
study. 

"My  advice,"  said  he,  "is  to  see  Tillotson.  He  has  an 
office  in  the  Hotel  Pelham,  up  by  the  Public  Library,  you 
know." 

"Is  he  a  'regular'?"  asked  Quincy. 

"Well,"  said  Culver,  "I  don't  think  he  is.  For  a  fact  I 
know  he  is  not  an  M.  D.,  but  I  fancy  that  the  diploma  that 
he  holds  from  the  Almighty  is  worth  more  to  suffering 
•humanity  than  a  good  many  tissued  by  the  colleges." 

"You  are  a  pretty  broad-minded  allopath,"  said  Quincy, 
"to  give  such  a  sweeping  recommendation  to  a  quack." 

"I  didn't  say  he  was  a  quack,"  replied  Culver.  "He  is  a 
natural-born  healer,  and  he  uses  only  nature's  remedies  in 
his  practice.  Go  and  see  -him,  Quincy,  and  judge  for  your 
self." 

"But/'  said  Quincy,  "I  had  hoped  that  you — " 

"But  I  couldn't,"  broke  in  Paul.  "I  am  an  •emergency 
doctor.  If  baby  has  the  croup,  or  Jimmy  has  the  measles,  or 
father  has  the  lung  fever,  they  call  me  in,  and  I  get  them 
well  as  soon  as  possible.  But  if  mother-in-law  has  some 
obscure  complaint  I  am  too  busy  to  give  the  time  to  study 
it  up,  and  they  wouldn't  pay  me  for  it  if  I  did.  Medicine, 
like  a  great  many  other  things,  is  going  into  the  hands  of 
the  specialists  eventually,  and  Tillotson  is  one  of  the  first  of 
the  new  school." 

At  that  moment  a  maid  announced  that  some  one  wished 
to  see  Dr.  Culver,  and  Quincy  took  a  hurried  leave. 

He  found  his  father,  mother,  and  sisters  at  home,  and 
breakfast  was  quickly  served  after  his  arrival.  They^  all 


THE  NEW  DOCTOR.  205 

said  he  was  looking  much  better,  and  all  asked  him  when 
he  was  coming  home.  He  gave  an  evasive  answer,  saying 
that  there  were  lots  of  good  times  coming  down  in  East- 
borough  and  he  didn't  wish  to  miss  them.  He  told  his 
father  he  was  improving  his  time  reading  and  writing,  and 
would  give  a  good  account  of  himself  when  he  did  return. 

He  had  to  wait  an  hour  before  he  could  secure  an  inter 
view  with  Dr.  Tillotson.  The  latter  had  a  spare  day  in  each 
week,  that  day  being  Thursday,  which  he  devoted  to  cases 
that  he  was  obliged  to<  visit  personally.  Quincy  arranged 
with  him  to  visit  Eastborough  on  the  following  Thursday, 
and  by  calling  a  carriage  managed  to  catch  the  half-past 
eleven  train  for  that  town,  and  reached  his  boarding  place 
a  little  before  two  o'clock.  He  had  arranged  with  the  driver 
to  wait  for  a  letter  that  he  wished  to  have  mailed  to  Boston 
that  same  afternoon. 

He  went  in  by  the  back  door,  and  as  ihe  passed  through 
the  kitchen,  Mandy  made  a  sign,  and  he  went  to  her. 

"Hiram  waited  tlill  one  o'clock,"  said  'she,  "but  he  had  to 
go  home,  and  >he  wanted  me  to  tell  you  that  the  surprise 
party  is  coming  off  next  Monday  night,  and  they  are  going 
to  get  -there  at  seven  o'clock,  so  as  to  have  plenty  of  time 
for  lots  of  fun,  and  Hiram  suspects,"  .and  her  voice  fell  to  a 
whisper,  "that  Strout  is  going  to  try  and  work  the  Deacon 
for  .that  five  hundred  in  cash  to  >put  up  for  the  grocery  store 
next  Tuesday.  That's  -all,"  said  she. 

"Where  is  Miss  Pettengill?"  Quincy  inquired, 

"She's  in  the  parlor,"  said  Mandy.  "She  has  been  play 
ing  the  piano  and  singing  beautifully,  'but  I  guess  she  has 
got  tired." 

Quincy  went  directly  to  the  parlor  and  found  Alice  seated 
before  the  open  fire,  her  right  hand  covering  her  eyes. 

She  looked  up  as  Quincy  entered  the  room  and  said,  "I 
am  so  glad  you've  got  back,  Mr.  Sawyer.  I  (have  been  very 
lonesome  since  you  have  been  away." 


208  QUINCY  ADAMS    SAWYER. 

Alice  did  not  see  the  -happy  smile  that  spread  over 
Quincy's  face,  and  he  covered  up  his  pleasure  by  saying, 
"How  did  you  know  it  was  I?" 

"Oh,"  said  Alice,  "my  hearing  is  very  acute.  I  know 
•the  step  of  every  person  in  the  .house.  Swiss  has  been  with 
me  all  the  morning,  but  he  asked  a  few  minutes  ago  to  be 
excused,  so  he  could  get  his  dinner." 

Quincy  laugihed,  and  then,  said,  "Miss  Pettengill,  we  for 
got  a  very  important  matter  in  connection  with  your  stories; 
we  omitted  to  put  on  the  name  of  the  author."  He  told  her 
of  his  meeting  with  Ernst,  and  what  had  taken  place,  and 
Alice  was  delighted.  Quincy  did  not  refer  to  the  coming 
visit  of  Dr.  Tillo'tson,  for  'he  did  not  mean  to  speak  of  it 
until  the  day  appointed  arrived.  "Now,  Miss  Pettengill, 
I  have  some  letters  to  write  to  send  back  by  .the  hotel  car 
riage,  so  that  they  can  be  mailed  this  afternoon.  While  I 
am  doing  this  you  can  decide  upon  your  pseudonym,  and  I 
will  put  it  in  the  letter  that  I  am  going  to  write  to  Ernst." 

Quincy  went  up  to  his  room  and  sat  down  at  his  writing 
table.  The  first  letter  was  to  his  bankers,  and  endosed  a 
check  for  five  hundred  dollars,  with  a  request  to  send  the 
amount  in  biHs  by  Adams  Express  to  Eastborough  Centre, 
to  reach  there  not  later  than  noon  of  the  next  Tuesday, 
and  to  be  held  until  called  for.  The  second  letter  was  to  a 
prominent  confectioner  and  caterer  in  Boston,  ordering 
enough  ice  cream,  sherbet,  frozen  pudding,  and  assorted 
cake  for  a  party  of  fifty  persons,  and  fifty  grab-bag  presents; 
all  to  reach  Eaiatborough  Centre  in  good  order  on  Monday 
night  on  the  five  minutes  past  six  express  from  Boston. 
The  third  letter  was  to  Ernst.  It  was  short  and  to  the  point. 
"The  pseudonym  is — "  And  he  left  a  blank  space  for  the 
name.  Then  be  signed  his  own.  He  glanced  over  his  writ 
ing  table  and  saw  the  three  poemls  that  Alice  had  given  hian 
to  read.  He  added  a  postscript  to  his  letter  to  Ernst.  It 
read  as  follows: 


THE  NEW  DOCTOK.  207 

"I  enclose  -three  poems  written  by  the  same  person  who 
wrote  the  stories.  Tell  me  what  you  think  of  them,  and  if 
you  can  place  them  anywhere  do  so,  and  this  shall  be  your 
warrant  therefor.  Q.  A.  S." 

When  'his  mail  was  in  readiness  >he  went  downstairs  to  the 
parlor,  taking  a  pen  and  bottle  of  ink  with  him,  and  saying 
to  himself,  "That  pseudonym  shall -not  be  written  in  pencil.'* 

"I  am  in  a  state  of  hopeless  indecision,"  remarked  Alice. 
"I  can  think  of  Christian  names  that  please  me,  and  sur 
names  that  please  me,  but  when  I  put  them  together  they 
don't  please  me  at  all." 

"Then  we  will  leave  it  to  fate,"  said  Quincy.  He  tore  a 
sheet  of  paper  into  six  pieces  and  passed  three,  with  a  book 
and  pencil,  to  Alice.  "Now  you  write,"  said  he,  "three 
Christian  names  that  please  you,  and  I  will  write  three 
surnames  that  please  me;  then  we  will  put  the  pieces  in 
my  hat,  and  you  will  select  two  and  what  you  select  shall 
be  the  name." 

"That's  a  capital  idea,"  said  Alice,  "it  is  harder  to  select 
a  name  than  it  was  to  write  the  story." 

The  slips  were  written,  placed  in  the  hat,  shaken  up,  and 
Alice  selected  two,  which  she  held  up  for  Quincy  to  read. 

"This  is  not  fair,"  said  Quincy.  "I  never  thought.  Both 
of  the  slips  are  mine.  We  must  try  again." 

"No,"  said  Alice,  "it  is  'Kismet.'  What  are  the  names?" 
she  asked. 

"Bruce  Douglas,  or  Douglas  Bruce,  as  you  prefer,"  said 
Quincy. 

"I  like  Bruce  Douglas  best,"  replied  Alice. 

"I  am  so  glad,"  said  Quincy,  "that's  the  name  I  should 
have  selected  myself." 

"Then  I  will  bear  your  name  in  future,"  said  Alice,  and 
Quincy  thought  to  himself  that  he  wished  she  had  said 
those  words  in  response  to  a  question  that  was  an  his  mind, 


208  QUIXCY  ADAMS  SAWYER. 

but  which  he  had  decided  it  was  not  yet  time  to  ask  her. 
He  was  too  much  of  a  gentleman  .to  irefer  in  a  joking  man 
ner  to  the  words  which  Alice  had  spoken  and  which  had 
been  uttered  with  no  thought  or  idea  that  they  bore  a 
double  meaning. 

Quincy  wrote  the  selected  name  in  the  blank  space  in 
Leopold's  letter,  -sealed  it  and  took  his  mail  out  to  the  car 
riage  driver,  who  was  seated  in  the  kitchen  enjoying  a 
piece  of  mince  pie  and  a  mug  of  cider  which  Mandy  had 
given  him. 

As  Quincy  entered  the  kitchen  he  heard  Mandy  say, 
"How  is  'Bias  nowadays?" 

"Oh,  dad's  all  right,"  said  the  young  man ;  "he  is  going 
to  run  Wallace  Stackpole  again  for  tax  collector  against 
Obadiah  Strout." 

"Is  your  name  Smith?''  asked  Quincy,  advancing  with 
the  letters  in  his  hand. 

"Yes/'  replied1  the  young  man,  "my  name  is  Abbott 
Smith.  My  dad's  name  is  'Bias;  he  is  pretty  well  known 
'round  these  parts." 

"I  have  heard  of  him,"  said  Quincy,  "and  I  wish  to  see 
him  and  Mr.  Stackpole  together.  Can  you  come  over  for 
me  next  Wednesday  morning  and  bring  Mr.  Stackpole 
with  you?  I  can  talk  to  him  going  back,  and  I  want  you 
to  drive  us  over  to  your  father's  place.  Don't  say  anything 
about  it  except  to  Mr.  Stackpole  and  your  father,  but  I  am 
going  to  take  a  hand  in  town  politics  this  year." 

The  young  man  laughed  and  said,  "I  will  be  over  here 
by  eight  o'clock  next  Wednesday." 

"I  wish  you  would  have  these  letters  weighed  at  the 
post  office,  and  if  any  more  stamps  are  needed  please  put 
them  on.  Take  what  is  left  for  your  trouble,"  and  Quincy 
passed  Abbott  a  half  dollar. 

He  heard  the  retreating  carriage  wheels  as  he  went  up 
stairs  to  his  room.  He  made  an  entry  in  his  pocket  diary, 


THE  NEW  DOCTOR.  20§ 

and  then  ran  his  eye  over  several  others  that  preceded  and 
followed  it. 

"Let  me  see,''  soliloquized  'he,  as  he  read  aloud,  "this  is 
Friday ;  Saturday,  expect  war  records  from  Adjutant- 
General;  Monday,  hear  from  Ernst,  surprise  party  in  the 
evening;  Tuesday,  get  money  at  express  office;  Tuesday 
(afternoon,  buy  Hill's  grocery  and  give  Strout  his  first 
knock-out;  Wednesday,  see  Stackpole  and  Smith  and  ar 
range  to  kno'ck  Strout  out  again ;  Thursday,  Dr.  Tillotson." 
He  laughed  and  closed  the  book.  Then  he  said,  "And  the 
city  fellows  think  it  must  be  dull  down  .here  because  there 
is  nothing  going  on  in  a  country,  town  in  the  winter." 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

SOME   PLAIN    FACTS   AND    INFERENCES. 

THE  next  day  was  Saturday ;  the  sun  did  not  show  itself 
from  'behind  -the  clouds  till  noon,  and  Quincy  put  off 
his  trip  to  the  Eastborough  Centre  post  office  with  the  hope 
that  the  afternoon  would  be  ipleasant.  His  wish  was  grati 
fied,  and  at  dinner  he  said  he  was  go-ingf  to  drive  over  to 
Eastborough  Centre,  and  asked  Mfes  Pettengill  if  she  would 
not  like  to  accompany  him.  Alice  hesitated,  but  Uncle  Ike 
advised  her  to  go,  telling  her  that  she  stayed  indoors  too 
much  and  needed  outdoor  exercise.  Ezekiel  agreed  with 
his  uncle,  and  Alice  finally  gave  what  seemed  to  Quincy  to 
be  a  somewhat  reluctant  consent. 

He  saw  that  the  sleigh  was  amply  supplied  with  robes, 
and  Handy,  at  his  suggestion,  heated  a  large  piece  of  soap- 
stone,  which  was  wrapped  up  and  placed  in  the  bottom  of 
the  .sleigh. 

Alice  appeared  at  the  door  equipped  for  her  journey. 
Always  lovely  in  Quincy's  eyes,  she  appeared  still  more 
so  in  her  suit  of  dark  blue  cloth.  Over  her  shoulders  she 
wore  a  fur  cape  lined  with  quilted  red  satin,  and  on  her  head 
a  fur  ca,p,  which  made  a  strong  contrast  with  'her  light  hair 
which  crept  out  in  little  curls  from  underneath. 

They  started  off  at  a  smart  speed,  for  Old  Bill  was  not 
in  the  shafts  this  time.  Alice  had  been  familiar  with  the 
road  to  Eastborough  before  leaving  home,  and  as  Quincy 
described  the  various  points  they  passed,  Alice  entered  into 
the  spirit  of  the  drive  with  all  the  interest  and  enthusiasm 
of  a  child.  The  sharp  winter  air  brought  a  rosy  bloom  to 
her  cheeks,  and  as  Quincy  looked  at  those  wonderful  large 
blue  eyes,  he  could  hardly  make  himself  believe  that  they 


SOME  PLAIN   FACTS   AND   DEFERENCES.  211 

could  not  see  him.  He  was  sure  he  had  never  seen  a 
handsomer  girl. 

As  they  passed  Uncle  Ike's  little  house,  Quincy  called 
her  attention  to  it.  Alice  said: 

"Poor  Uncle  Ike,  I  wish  I  could  do  more  for  him,  he 
has  done  so  much  for  me.  He  paid  for  my  lessons  in  book 
keeping  and  music,  and  also  fo>r  my  board  until  I  had  fin 
ished  my  studies  and  obtained  a  position.  He  has  been  a 
father  to  me  since  my  own  dear  father  died." 

Quincy  felt  some  inclination  to  find  out  the  real  reason 
why  Uncle  Ike  had  left  his  family,  but  he  repressed  it  and 
called  attention  to  some  trees,  'heavily  coated  with  snow 
and  ice,  which  looked  beautiful  in  the  sunshine,  and  he  de 
scribed  them  so  graphically,  bringing  in  allusions  to  pearls 
and  diamonds  and  strings  of  glistening  jewels,  that  Alice 
clapped  her  hands  in  delight  and  said  she  would  take  him 
as  her  literary  partner,  to  write  in  the  descriptive  passages. 
Quincy  'for  an  instant  felt  impelled  to  take  advantage  of 
the  situation,  but  saying  to  himself,  "The  time  is  not  yet," 
he  touched  the  ih'orse  with  his  whip  and  for  half  a  minute 
was  obliged  to  give  it  his  undivided  attention. 

"Did  you  think  the  horse  was  running  away?''  said  he 
to  Alice,  when  he  had  brought  him  down  to  a  trot.  "Were 
you  afraid?" 

"I  am  afraid  of  nothing  nowadays,"  she  replied.  "I 
trust  my  companions  implicitly,  knowing  that  they  will  tell 
me  if  I  am  in  danger  and  advise  me  what  to  do.  I  had  a 
debate  a  long  time  ago  with  Uncle  Ike  about  blind  people 
and  deaf  people.  He  said  he  would  rather  be  stone  deaf 
than  blind.  As  he  argued  it,  the  deaf  person  could  read  and 
write  and  get  along  very  comfortably  by  himself.  I  argued 
on  the  other  side.  I  wish  to  'hear  the  voices  of  my  friends 
when  they  talk  and  sing  and  read,  and  then,  you  know, 
everybody  lends  a  helping  hand  to  a  person  who  is  blind, 
but  the  deaf  person  'must  look  out  for  himself.'' 


212  QUINCY    ADAMS  SAWYER. 

"Either  state  is  to  be  regretted,  if  there  is  no  hope  of  re 
lief,"  remarked  Quincy.  He  thought  he  would  refer  to  Dr. 
TWlotson,  but  they  were  approaching'  the  centre  of  the 
town,  and  he  knew  he  would  not  have  time  to  explain  his 
action  before  he  reached  the  post  office,  so  he  determined 
to  postpone  it  until  they  were  on  the  way  home. 
»  There  were  three  letters  for  himself,  two  for  Alice  and 
a  lot  of  papers  and  magazines  for  Uncle  Ike.  He  resumed 
his  seat  in  the  sleigh  and  they  started  on  their  journey 
homeward. 

"Would  you  like  to  go  back  the  same  way  that  we  came?" 
asked  Quincy,  "or  shall  we  go  by  the  upper  road  and  come 
by  Deacon  Mason's?" 

"I  should  like  to  stop  and  see  Huldy,"  said  Alice,  and 
Quincy  took  Dhe  upper  road. 

Conversation  lagged  on  the  homeward  trip.  Alice  held 
her  two  letters  in  her  hand  and  looked  at  them  several 
times,  apparently  trying  to  recognize  the  handwriting.  As 
Quincy  glanced  at  her  sidewise,  he  felt  sure  that  he  saw 
tears  in  her  eyes,  and  he  decided  that  it  would  be  an  in 
appropriate  time  to  announce  the  subject  of  the  new  doctor. 
In  fact,  he  was  'beginning  to  think,  the  more  his  mind  dwelt 
upon  the  subject,  that  he  had  taken  an  inexcusable  liberty 
in  arranging  for  Dr.  Tillotson  to  come  down  without  first 
speaking  to  her,  or  at  least  to  her  brother  or  uncle.  But 
the  deed  was  done,  and  he  must  find  some  way  to  have  her 
see  the  doctor,  and  get  his  opinion  about  her  eyes. 

Quincy  spent  so  much  time  revolving  this  matter  in  his 
mind,  that  he  was  quite  astonished  when  he  looked  around 
and  found  himself  at  the  exact  place  where  he  spoke  those 
words  to  Huldy  Mason  that  'had  ended  in  the  accident. 
This  time  be  gave  careful  attention  to  horse  and  hill  and 
curve,  and  a  moment  later  he  drew  up  the  sleigh  at  Deacon 
Mason's  front  gate. 

Mrs.  Mason  welcomed  them  at  the  door  and  they  were 


SOME  PLAIN  FACTS   AND   INFERENCES.  213 

shown  into  the  parlor,  where  Huldy  sat  at  the  piano.  The 
young  girls  greeted  each  other  warmly,  and  Mrs.  Mason 
and  Huldy  both  wished  Quincy  and  Alice  to  stay  to  tea. 
They  declined,  saying  they  had  many  letters  to  read  before 
supper  and  'Zekiel  would  think  'something  had  happened 
to  them  if  they  did  not  come  home. 

"I  will  send  Hiram  down  to  let  them  know,"  said  Mrs. 
Mason. 

"You  must  really  excuse  us  this  time,"  protested  Quincy. 
"Some  other  time  perhaps  Miss  Pettengill  will  accept  your 
hospitality." 

"But  when?"  asked  Mrs.  Mason.  "We  might  as  well 
fix  a  time  right  now." 

"Yes,''  said  Huldy,  "and  we  won't  let  them  go  till  they 
promise." 

"Well,  my  plan,"  said  Mrs.  Mason,  "is  this.  Have  'Zekiel 
and  Alice  and  Mr.  Sawyer  come  over  next  Monday  after 
noon  about  five  o'clock,  and  we  will  have  tea  at  six,  and  we 
will  have  some  music  in  the  evening.  I  have  so  missed 
your  singing1,  Mr.  Sawyer,  since  you  went  away." 

"Yes,"  said  Huldy,  "I  think  it  is  real  mean  of  you,  Alice, 
not  to  let  him  come  and  see  us  oftener." 

Alice  flushed  and  stammered,  "I — I — I  do  not  keep 
him  from  coming  to  see  you.  Why,  yes,  I  'have  too,"  said 
she,  as  a  thought  flashed  through  her  mind.  "I  will  tell  you 
the  truth,  Mrs.  Mason.  Mr.  Sawyer  offered  to  do  some 
writing  for  me,  and  I  have  kept  him  very  busy." 

She  stopped  and  Quincy  continued: 

"I  did  do  a  little  writing  for  her,  Mrs.  Mason,  during  the 
great  snowstorm,  and  it  was  as  great  a  pleasure  to  me,  as  I 
hope  it  was  a  help  to  her,  for  I  had  nothing  else  to  do." 

"Well,"  said  Mlrs.  Mason,  "you  can  settle  that  matter 
'between  yer.  All  that  HuJdy  and  me  wants  to  know  is, 
will  all  three  of  you  come  and  take  tea  with  us  next  Mon 
day  night?" 


214  QUINCY    ADAMS    SAWYEK. 

"I  shall  be  greatly  pleased  to  do  so,"  said  Quincy. 

"If  'Zekiel  will  come,  I  will,"  said  Alice,  and  Quincy  for 
an  instant  felt  a  slight  touch  of  wounded  feeling  because 
Alice  had  ignored  him  entirely  in  accepting  the  invitation. 

As  they  drove  home,  Alice  said:  "Mrs.  Mason  managed 
that  nicely,  didn't  she?  I  didn't  wish  to  appear  too  eager 
to  come,  for  Huldy  might  have  suspected.'' 

"What  mystery  is  this?"  asked  Quin'cy.  "I  really  don't 
know  what  you  are  talking  about." 

"What!"  said  Alice.  "Didn't  'Zekiel  tell  you  about  the 
surprise  party  that  Mr.  Strout  was  getting  up,  and  that 
you,  'Zekiel,  and  I  were  not  to  be  invited?" 

"Oh!  I  see,"  said  Quincy.  "How  stupid  I  have  been! 
I  knew  all  about  it  and1  that  it  was  to  be  next  Monday,  but 
Mrs.  Mason  asked  us  -so  honestly  to  come  to  tea,  and  Huldy 
joined  in  so  heartily,  that  for  the  time  being  I  got  things 
mixed,  and  besides,  to  speak  frankly,  Miss  Pettengill,  I 
was  thinking  of  something  else." 

"And  what  was  it?"  asked  Alice. 

''Well/'  said  Quincy,  determined  to  break  the  ice,  "I 
will  tell  you.  I  was  wondering  why  you  said  you  would 
come  to  tea  if  'Zekiel  would  come." 

"Oh!"  said  Alice,  laughing.  "You  thought  I  was  very 
ungenerous  to  leave  you  out  of  the  question  ^entirely." 

"Honestly  I  did  think  so,"  remarked  Quincy. 

"Well,  now,"  said  Alice,  "I  did  it  from  the  most  generous 
of  motives.  I  thought  you  knew  about  the  surprise  party 
as  well  as  I  did.  I  knew  'Zekiel  would  go  with  me  and  I 
thought  that  (perhaps  you  had  some  other  young  lady  in 
view  for  your  companion." 

"What?"  asked  Quincy.  "Whom  could  I  have  had  in 
view?" 

"Shall  I  tell  you  whom  I  think?"  asked  Alice. 

"I  wish  you  would,"  Quincy  replied. 


SOME  PLAIN  FACTS   AND   INFERENCES.  215 

"Well,"  said  Alice,  "I  thought  it  .might  be  Lindy  Put 
nam." 

Quincy  bit  his  lip  and  gave  the  reins  a  savage  jerk,  as 
he  turned  up  the  short  road  that  led  to  the  Pettengill 
house.  "What  could  make  you  think  that,  Miss  Petten 


"Well,  I  have  only  one  reason  to  give,"  Alice  replied, 
"for  that  opinion,  but  the  fact  is,  when  we  made  our  call 
on  Mrs.  Putnam  she  pounded  on  the  floor  three  times  with 
her  crutch  before  you  came  upstairs.  Am  I  justified,  Mr. 
Sawyer?" 

"I'm  afraid  you  are,"  said  Quincy.  "I  should  have 
thought  so  myself  if  I  'had  been  in  your  place." 

But  when  he  reached  his  room  'he  threw  his  letters  on 
the  table,  his  coat  and  hat  on  the  bed,  and  thrusting  his 
hands  into  has  pockets,  he  walked  rapidly  up  and  down  the 
room,  saying  to  himself  in  a  savage  whisper,  "Confound 
that  Putnam  girl;  she  is  a  hoodoo." 

Quincy  was  philosophical,  and  his  excited  feelings  soon 
quieted  down.  It  would  come  out  all  right  in  the  end. 
Alice  would  find  that  he  had  not  intended  to  take  Miss 
Putnam  to  the  surprise  party.  He  could  not  betray  Lindy  's 
confidence  just  at  that  time,  even  to  justify  himself.  He 
must  wait  until  Mrs.  Putnam  died.  It  might  be  years  from 
now  before  the  time  came  to  destroy  that  letter,  and  he 
could  not,  until  then,  disclose  to  Alice  the  secret  that  Lindy 
had  confided  to  him.  Yes,  it  would  come  out  all  right  in 
the  end,  for  it  imight  be  if  Alice  thought  he  was  in  love  with' 
Lindy  that  she  would  give  more  thought  to  him.  He  had 
read  somewhere  that  oftentimes  the  best  way  to  awaken  a 
dormant  love  was  to  appear  to  fall  in  love  with  some  one 
else. 

Somewhat  reconciled  to  the  situation  by  fais  thoughts, 
he  sat  down  to  read  his  letters.  The  first  one  that  he  took 
up  was  from  the  confectioner.  It  informed  him  that  his 


216  QUINCY  ADAMS  SAWYEK. 

order  would  receive  prompt  attention,  and  the  writer 
thanked  him  for  past  favors  and  solicited  a  continuance  of 
the  same.  The  second  was  from  Ernst.  It  was  short  and 
to  the  point,  and  written  in  his  characteristic  style.  It  said: 

"Dear  Quincy : — Pseudonym  received.  Bruce  Douglas  is 
a  name  to  conjure  with.  It  smacks  of  'Auki  Lang  Syne/ 
The  Scotch  are  the  only  people  on  the  face  of  the  earth  who 
were  never  conquered.  You  will  remember,  if  you  haven't 
forgotten  your  ancient  history,  that  the  Roman  general  sent 
back  word  to  his  emperor  that  the  d — d  country  wasn't 
worth  conquering.  Enclosures  also  at  hand.  The  shorter 
ones  are  more  songs  than  poems.  I  will  turn  them  over  to  a 
music  publisher,  who  is  a  friend  of  mine.  Will  report  his 
decision  later. 

"I  gave  the  long  poem  to  Francis  Lippitt,  the  well-known 
composer,  and  he  is  delighted  with  it  and  wishes  to  set  it  to 
music.  He  is  great  on  grand  choruses,  Bach  fugues,  and 
such  like.  If  he  sets  it  to  music  he  will  have  it  sung  by  the 
Handel  and  Haydn  Society,  for  he  is  a  great  gun  among 
them  just  now.  The  eight  stories  have  reached  New  York 
by  this  time,  and  Jameson  is  reading  'Her  Native  Land.' 

"With  best  regards  to  Mr.  Bruce  Douglas  and  yourself. 

LEOPOLD  ERNST. 

The  third  letter  was  from  the  Adjutant-General's  office, 
and  Quincy  -smiled  as  he  finished  the  first  sheet,  folded  it 
up  and  replaced  it  in  the  envelope.  As  he  read  the  second 
the  smile  left  his  face.  "Who  would  have  thought  it?"  he 
said  to  himself.  "Well,  after  all,  heroes  are  made  out  of 
strange  material.  He  is  the  man  for  my  money  and  I'll 
back  him  up,  and  beat  that  braggart." 

On  the  following  Sunday,  after  dinner,  Quincy  had  a 
drat  with  Uncle  Ike.  He  took  the  opportunity  of  asking 
tfie  old  gentleman  if  he  was  fully  satisfied  with  the  progress 
towards  recovery  that  his  niece  was  making1. 


SOME  PLAIN  FACTS  AND  INFEKENCES.  217 

"I  don't  see  that  she  is  'making  any  progress,"  said  Uncle 
Ike  frankly.  "I  don't  think  she  can  see  a  "bit  better  than 
she  could  when  she  came  -home.  In  fact,  I  d'on't  think  she 
can  see  as  well.  She  had  a  pair  of  glasses  made  of  bla'ck 
rubber,  with  a  pinhole  in  the  centre  of  them,  that  she  could 
read  a  little  with,  but  I  notice  now  that  she  never  puts  them 
on." 

"Well,"  remarked  Quincy,  "perhaps  I  have  taken  an 
unwarrantable  liberty,  Uncle  Ike;  .but  when  I  was  last  in 
Boston  I  heard  of  a  new  doctor  who  has  made  some  won 
derful  cures,  and  I  have  engaged  him  to  come  down  here 
next  week  and  see  your  niece.  Of  course,  if  you  object  I 
will  write  to  him  not  to  come,  and  no  harm  will  be  done." 

Quincy  did  not  think  it  necessary  to  state  that  he  had 
paid  the  doctor  his  fee  of  one  hundred  dollars  in  advance. 

'"Well,"  said  Uncle  Ike,  "I  certainly  sha'n't  object,  if  the 
doctor  can  do  her  any  good.  But  I  should  like  to  know 
something  about  the  course  of  treatment,  the  nature  of  it, 
I  mean,  before  she  gives  up  her  present  doctor.'' 

"That's  just  what  I  mean,"  said  Quincy.  "I  want  you  to 
be  so  kind  as  to  take  this  whole  matter  off  my  hands,  just 
as  though  I  had  made  the  arrangement  at  your  suggestion. 
I  am  going  down  for  the  doctor  next  Thursday  noon. 
Won't  you  ride  down  with  me  and'  meet  Dr.  Tillotson? 
You  can  talk  to  him  on  the  way  home,  and  then  you  can 
manage  the  whole  matter  yourself,  and  do  as  you  think 
best  about  changing  doctors." 

"You  have  been  very  Vmd  to  my  niece,  Mr.  Sawyer, 
since  you  have  been  here;  said  Uncle  Ike,  "and  very  help 
ful  to  her.  I  attribute  your  interest  in  her  case  to  your 
kindness  of  heart  and  a  generosity  which  is  seldom  found 
in  the  sons  of  millionaires.  But  take  my  advice,  Mr.  Saw 
yer,  and  let  your  feelings  stop  .there." 

"I  dto  not  quite  understand  vou,"  replied  Quincy,  though 
from  a  sudden  sinking  of  his  heart  he  felt  that  he  did. 


«8  QTJINCY   ADAMS  SAWYER. 

"Then  I  will  speak  plainer/'  said  Uncle  Ike.  "Don't  fa  } 
m  love  with  my  niece,  Mr.  Sawyer.  She  is  a  good  girl,  a 
sweet  girl,  and  some  might  call  her  a  beautiful  one,  but  she 
has  her  limitations.  She  is  not  fitted  to  sit  in  a  Beacon 
Street  parlor;  and  your  parents  and  sisters  would  not  be 
pleased  to  have  you  place  her  there.  Excuse  an  old  man, 
Mr.  Sawyer,  but  you  know  wisdom  cotmeth  with  age,  al-^ 
though  its  full  value  is  not  usually  appreciated  by  the 
young." 

Ouincy,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  was  entirely  at  a 
loss  for  a  reply.  He  burned  to  declare  his  love  then  and 
there;  but  how  could  he  do  so  in  the  face  of  such  a  plain 
statement  of  facts?  He  did  the  best  thing  possible  under 
the  circumstances;  he  quietly  ignored  Uncle  Ike's  advice, 
and  thanking  him  for  his  kindness  in  consenting  to  meet 
the  new  doctor  he  badie  him  good  afternoon  and  went  to 
has  room. 

After  Quincy  had1  gone  Uncle  Ike  rubbed  has  hands 
together  gleefully  and  shook  with  laughter. 

"The  sly  roguel"  he  said  to  himself.  "Wanted  Uncle 
Ike  to  help  him  out."  Then  .he  laughed  again.  "If  he  don't 
love  her  he  will  take  my  advice,  but  if  he  does,  what  I  told 
Mm  will  drive  him  on  like  spurs  in  the  side  of  a  horse.  He 
is  a  good  fellow,  a  great  deal  better  than  his  father  and  the 
rest  of  his  family,  for  he  isn't  stuck  up.  I  like  him,  but  my 
Alice  is  good  enough  for  him  even  if  he  were  a  good  deal 
better  than  he  is.  How  it  would  tickle  me  to  hear  my  niece 
calling  the  Hon.  Nathaniel  Sawyer  papa!"  And  Uncle  Ike 
laughed  until  his  sides  shook. 

Monday  promised  to  be  a  dull  day.  'Zekiel  told  Quincy 
at  breakfast,  after  -the  others  had  left  the  table,  that  Alice 
had  spoken  to  ihim  about  Mrs.  Mason's  invitation  to  tea, 
and,  of  course,  he  was  going.  Quincy  said  that  he  had 
accepted  the  invitation  and  would  be  pleased  to  accompany 
him  and  his  sister. 


SOME   PLAIN   FACTS   AND   INFERENCES.  219 

After  breakfast  he  heard  Alice  singing  in  the  parlor,  and 
joining  her  there  told  her  that  he  had  received  a  letter  from 
Mr.  Ernst,  which  he  would  like  to  read  to  her.  Alice  was 
delighted  with  the  letter,  and  they  both  laughed  'heartily 
over  it,  Quincy  humorously  apologizing  for  the  swear  word 
by  saying  that  being  historical  it  could  not  be  profane. 

Alice  had  in  .her  hand  the  two  letters  that  she  had  re 
ceived  on  Saturday. 

"Have  you  answered  your  letters?1'  'he  asked. 

"No,  I  have-  not  -even  heard  them  read,"  she  replied. 
"Uncle  Ike  has  grown  'tired  all  at  once  and  won't  read  to 
me  nor  write  for  me.  I  don't  understand  him  at  all.  I  sent 
for  him  yesterday  afternoon,  after  you  came  down,  and  told 
him  what  I  wanted  him  to  do.  He  sent  back  word  that  he 
was  too  busy  and  I  must  get  somebody  else,  but  who  can  I 
get?  Mandy  and  'Zekiel  are  both  too  much  occupied  with 
their  own  duties  to  help  me." 

"If  I  can  be  of  any  service  -to  you,  'Miss  Pettengill,  you 
know — " 

"Oh,  I  don't  think  I  should  dare  to  let  you  read  these 
letters,"  interrupted  Alice,  laughing.  "No  doubt  they  are 
from  two  of  my  lady  friends,  and  I  have  always  heard  that 
men  consider  letters  that  women  write  to  each  other  very 
silly  and  childish." 

"Perhaps  I  have  not  told  you,"  said  Quincy,  "that  I  have 
two  sisters  and  am  used  to  that  sort  of  thing.  When  I  was 
in  college  hardly  a  day  passed  that  I  did  not  get  a  letter 
from  one  or  the  other  of  them,  and  they  brightened  up  my 
life  immensely." 

"What  are  their  names  and  how1  old  are  they?"  asked 
Alice. 

"The  elder,"  replied  Quincy,  "is  nineteen  and  her  name 
is  Florence  Estelle." 

"What  a  sweet  name!"  said  Alice. 


220  QUINCY    ADAMS  SAWYER. 

"The  younger  is  between  fifteen  and  sixteen,  and  is 
named  Maude  Gertrude." 

"Is  she  as  dignified  as  her  name?"  asked  Alice. 

"Far  from  it,"  remarked  Quincy.  "She  would  be  a  tom 
boy  if  she  had  an  opportunity.  Mother  and  father  call 
them  Florence  and  Maude,  for  they  both  abhor  nicknames, 
but  among  ourselves  they  are  known  as  Flossie,  or  Stell, 
and  Gertie." 

"What  was  your  nickname?"  asked  Alice. 

"Well,"  said  Quincy,  "they  used  to  call  me  Quinn,  but 
that  had  a  Hibernian  sound  to  it,  and  Maude  nicknamed  me 
Ad,  which  she  said  was  short  for  adder.  She  told  me  she 
called  me  that  because  I  was  so  deaf  that  I  never  heard  her 
when  she  asked  me  to  take  her  anywhere." 

"Well,  Mr.  Sawyer,  if  you  will  promise  not  to  laugh  out 
loud,  I  will  be  pleased  to  have  you  read  these  letters  to  me. 
You  can  smile  all  you  wish  to,  for  of  course  I  can't  see 
you." 

"I  agree,"  said  Quincy;  and  he  advanced  towards  her, 
took  the  two  letters  and  drew  a  chair  up  beside  her. 

"My  dear  May,"  read  Quincy.  He  stopped  suddenly, 
and  turndng  to  Alice  said,  "Is  this  letter  for  you?" 

"Before  we  go  any  further,"  said  Alice,  "I  must  explain 
my  various  names  and  nicknames.  I  was  named  Mary 
Alice,  the  Mary  being  my  mother's  name,  while  the  Alice 
was  a  favorite  of  my  father's.  Mother  always  called  me 
Mary  and  father  always  called 'me  Alice!  and  brother  'Zekiel 
|a.nd  Uncle  Ike  seem  to  like  the  name  Alice  best.  When  I 
went  to  Commercial  College  to  study  they  asked  me  rny 
name  and  I  said  naturally  Mary  A.  Pettengill.  Then  the 
girls  began  to  call  me  May,  and  the  boys,  or  young  men 
I  suppose  you  call  them,  nicknamed  me  Miss  Atlas,  on 
account  of  my  initials.  Now  that  I  have  given  you  a  chart 
of  my  names  to  go  by,  the  reading  will  no  doubt  be  plain 
sailing  in  future," 


SOME   PLAIN  FACTS  A¥  D  INFERENCES.  221 

Quincy  laughed  and  said,  "I  shotdd  call  it  a  M.  A.  P. 
instead  of  a  chart." 

"Fie!  Mr.  Sawyer,  to  make  such  a  joke  upon  my  poor 
name.  No  doubt  you  have  thought  of  one  that  would  please 
you  better  than  any  I  have  mentioned.'' 

Quincy  thought  he  had,  'but  he  wisely  refrained  from 
saying  so.  He  could  not  help  thinking,  however,  that  Miss 
Atlas  was  a  very  appropriate  name  for  a  girl  who  was  all 
the  world  to  -him.  It  is  evident  that  Uncle  Ike's  words  of 
advice  the  previous  afternoon  'had  not  taken  very  deep 
root  in  Quincy's  heart. 

He  resumed  his  reading: 

"My  dear  May: — How  are  you  getting  along  in  that  dis 
mal  country  town,  and  how  are  your  poor  eyes?  I  know  you 
can't  write  to  me,  but  I  want  you  to  know  that  I  have  not 
forgotten  you.  Every  time  I  see  my  sister,  Stella,  she  waves 
your  photograph  before  my  eyes.  You  know  you  prom 
ised  me  one  before  you  were  sick.  Just  send  it  to  me,  and 
it  will  be  just  as  nice  as  a  good,  long  letter.  As  somebody 
else  will  probably  read  this  to  you,  in  order  to  keep  them 
from  committing  a  robbery  I  send  you  only  one  kiss. 

From  your  loving, 

EMMA  FARNUM." 

•'Are  you  smiling,  Mr.  Sawyer?''  asked  Alice. 

"Not  at  all,"  he  answered.  "I  am  looking  grieved  be 
cause  Miss  Farnum  has  such  a  poor  opinion  of  me." 

Alice  laughed  merrily.  "Emma  is  a  very  bright,  pretty 
girl,"  said  Alice.  "She  boarded  at  the  same  house  that  I 
dij.  Her  sister  Stella  is  married  to  a  Mr.  Dwight.  I  will 
arrswer  her  letter  as  she  suggests  by  sending  her  the  prom 
ised  photograph.  On  the  bureau  in  my  room,  Mr.  Sawyer, 
you  will  find  an  envelope  containing  six  photographs.  I 
had  them  taken  about  a  month  before  I  was  sick.  Under- 


222  QUINCY   ADAMS  SAWYER. 

neath  you  will  find  some  heavy  envelopes 
grapher  gave  me  to  mail  them  in." 

Quincy  went  upstairs  three  steps  at  a  time.  He  found 
the  package,  and  impelled  by  an  inexplicable  ot'riosity  he 
counted  the  pictures  and  found  there  were  s^ven.  "She 
said  six,"  he  thought  to  himself.  "I  am  positive  she  said 
there  were  only  six."  He  took  one  of  the  pictures  and  put 
it  in  one  of  the  mailing  envelopes.  He  took  another  pic 
ture,  and  after  giving  it  a  long,  loving  IOQK  he  placed  it  in 
the  inside  pocket  of  his  coat,  and  with  a  guilty  flush  upon 
bis  face  he  fled  from  the  room. 

Just  as  he  reached  the  open  parlor  dooi  a  second  thought, 
which  is  said  to  be  the  best,  came  to  him,  and  he  was  about 
turning  to  go  upstairs  and  replace  the  picture  when  Alice's 
acute  ear  heard  him  and  she  asked,  "Did  you  find  them?" 

Quincy,  seeing  that  retreat  was  now  impossible,  said, 
"Yes,"  and  resumed  his  seat  beside  her. 

"Did  you  find  six?"  said  Alice. 

"There  are  five  upstairs  in  the  envelope  and  one  here 
ready  to  address,"  replied  Quincy. 

"Her  address,"  continued  Alice,  "is  Miss  Emma  Far- 
num,  care  Cotton  &  Co.,  Real  Estate  Brokers,  Tremont 
Row." 

Quincy  went  to  the  table,  wrote  the  address  as  directed, 
and  tied  the  envelope  with  the  string  attached. 

"I  am  afraid  the  other  letter  cannot  be  so  easily  an- 
.swered,"  said  Alice.  "Look  at  the  signature,  pkase,  and 
'  see  if  it  is  not  from  Bessie  White.'' 

"It  is  signed  Bessie,"  said  Quincy. 

"I  thought  so,"  exclaimed  Alice.  "She  works  for  the 
same  firm  that  I  did." 

Quincy  read  the  following: 

"My  dear  May: — I  know  that  you  will  be  glad1  to  learn 
what  is  going  on  at  the  great  dry  goods  house  of  Bordent 


SOME  PLA:N  FACTS  AND  INFERENCES.          223 

Waitt,  &  Fisher.  Business  is  good,  and  we  girls  are  all 
tired  out  when  night  comes  and  have  to  go  to  a  party  or 
the  theatre  to  get  rested.  Mr.  Ringgold,  the  head  book 
keeper,  is  disconsolate  over  your  absence,  and  asks  one 
or  more  of  us  every  morning  if  we  have  heard  from  Miss 
Pettengill.  Then,  every  afternoon,  he  says,  'Did  I  ask  you. 
this  morning  how  Miss  Pettengill  was  getting  along?'  Of 
course  it  is  <his  devotion  to  the  interest  of  the  firm  that  leads 
him  to  ask  these  questions." 

Alice  flushed  slightly,  and  turning  to  Quincy  said,  "Are 
you  smiling,  Mr.  Sawyer?  There  is  nothing  in  it,  I  assure 
you;  Bessie  is  a  great  joker  and  torments  the  other  girls 
unmercifully.'' 

"I  am  glad  there  is  nothing  in  it,"  said  Quincy.  "If  I 
were  a  woman  I  would  be  afraid  to  marry  a  bookkeeper. 
My  household  cash  would  have  to  balance  to  a  cent,  and 
at  the  end  of  the  year  he  would  insist  on  housekeeping 
showing  a  profit." 

Alice  regained  her  composure  and  Quincy  continued  his 
reading: 

"What  do  you  think!  Rita  Sanguily  has  left,  and  they 
say  she  is  going  to  marry  a  Dr.  Culver,  who  lives  up  on 
Beacon  Hill  somewhere." 

Quincy  started  a  little  as  he  read  this,  but  made  no  com 
ment. 

"I  was  out  to  see  Stella  D wight  the  other  day,  and  she 
showed  me  a  picture  of  you.  Can  you  spare  one  to  your 
old  friend, 

BESSIE  WHITE. 

"P.  S. — I  don't  expect  an  answer,  but  I  shall  expect  the 
picture.  I  shall  write  you  whenever  I  get  any  news,  and 
send  you  a  dozen  kisses  and  two  big  hugs.  B.  W." 


824  QUINCY  ADAMS  SAWYER. 

"She  is  more  liberal  than  Miss  Farnum,"  remarked 
Quincy.  "She  is  not  afraid  that  I  will  commit  robbery." 

"No,"  rejoined  Alice,  "but  I  cannot  share  with  you. 
Bessie  White  is  the  dearest  friend  I  have  in  the  world." 

"Miss  White  is  fortunate,"  said  Quincy,  "but  who  is 
Rita  Sanguily,  if  I  am  not  presuming  in  asking  the  ques 
tion?" 

"She  is  a  Portuguese  girl,"  answered  Alice,  "with  black 
eyes  and  beautiful  black  hair.  She  is  very  handsome  and 
can  talk  Portuguese,  French,  and  Spanish.  She  held  a  cer 
tain  line  of  custom  on  this  account.  Do  you  know  her?" 

"No,"  replied  Quincy,  "but  I  think  I  know  Dr.  Culver." 

"What  kind  of  a  looking' man  is  he?"  asked  Alice. 

"Oh!  he  is  tall  and  heavily  built,  with  large  bright  blue 
eyes  and  tawny  hair,"  said  Quincy. 

"I  like  such  'marked  contrasts  in  husband  and  wife,''  re 
marked  Alice. 

"So  do  I,"  said  Quincy,  looking  at  himself  in  a  looking 
glass  which  hung  opposite,  and  then  at  Alice;  "but  how 
about  Miss  White's  picture?" 

"Can  I  trouble  you  to  get  one?"  said  Alice. 

"No  trouble  at  all,"  replied  Quincy ;  but  he  went  up  the 
stairs  this  time  one  step  at  a  time.  He  was  deliberating 
whether  he  should  return  that  picture  that  was  in  his  coat 
pocket  or  keep  it  until  the  original  should  be  his  own.  He 
entered  the  room,  took  another  picture  and  another  en 
velope  and  came  slowly  downstairs.  His  crime  at  first  had 
been  unpremeditated,  but  his  persistence  was  deliberate 
felony. 

"Now  there  are  four  left,"  said  Alice,  as  Quincy  entered 
the  room. 

"Just  four,"  he  replied.  "I  counted  them  to  make  sure." 
He  sat  at  the  table  and  wrote.  "Will  this  do?"  he  asked: 
"Miss  Bessie  White,  care  of  Borden,  Waitt,  &  Fisher,  Bos 
ton,  Mass.?" 


SOME  PLAIN  FACTS  AND  INFERENCES.  221 

*'Oh,  thank  you  so  much,"  said  Alice. 

At  this  moment  Mandy  appeared'  at  the  door  and  an 
nounced  dinner,  and  Quincy  had  the  pleasure  of  leading 
Alice  to  her  accustomed  seat  at  the  table. 

"I  took  the  liberty  while  upstairs/'  said  Quincy,  "to 
glance  at  a  book  that  was  on  your  bureau  entitled,  'The 
Love  of  a  Lifetime.'  Have  you  read  it?" 

"No,"  replied  Alice.  "I  commenced  it  the  night  before 
I  was  taken  sick." 

"I  shall  be  pleased  to  read  it  aloud  to  you,"  said  Quincy. 

"I  should  enjoy  listening  to  it  very  much,"  she  replied. 

So  after  dinner  they  returned  to  the  parlor  and  Quincy 
read  aloud  until  the  descending  sun  again  sent  its  rays 
through  the  parlor  windows  to  fall  upon  Alice's  face  and 
hair,  and  Quincy  thought  to  himself  how  happy  he  should 
be  if  the  fair  girl  who  sat  beside  him  ever  became  the  love 
of  his  lifetime. 

Alice  finally  said  she  was  tired  and  must  have  a  rest. 
Quincy  called  Mandy  and  she  went  to  her  room.  A  few- 
moments  later  Quincy  was  in  his  own  room  and  after  lock 
ing  his  door  sat  down  to  inspect  his  plunder. 

Alice  did  not  rest,  however;  something  was  on  her  mind. 
She  found  her  way  to  the  bureau  and  took  up  the  pictures. 

"Only  four,''  she  said  to  herself,  after  counting  them. 
"Let  me  see/'  she  continued,  "the  photographer  gave  me 
thirteen, — a  baker's  dozen  he  called  it.  Now  to  whom 
have  I  given  them?  'Zekiel,  one;  Uncle  Ike,  two;  Mrs. 
Putnam,  three;  Stella  Dwight,  four;  Bessie  White,  five; 
Emma  Farnum,  six;  Mr.  Ringgold,  seven;  Mr.  Fisher, 
eight.  That  would  leave  five  and  I  have  only  four.  Now 
to  whom  did  I  give  that  other  picture?" 

And  the  guilty  thief  sat  on  the  other  side  of  the  parti 
tion  and  exulted  in  his  crime.  There  came  a  loud  rap  at 
his  door,  and  Quincy  started  up  so  suddenly  that  he  dropped 
the  picture  and  it  fell  to  the  floor.  He  caught  it  up  quickly 


226  QUIXCY    ADAMS    SAWYER. 

and  placed  it  in  his  pocket.  As  he  unlocked  the  door  and 
opened  it  he  heard  loud  rapping  on  the  door  of  Miss  Pet- 
tengiU's  room. 

Looking  into  the  entry  lie  saw  'Zekiel,  who  cried  out, 
"Say,  you  folks,  have  you  forgotten  that  you  have  been 
invited  out  to  tea  this  evening,  and  that  we  are  going  to  give 
a  surprise  party  to  Mr.  Strout  and  his  friends?  I  am  all 
dressed  and  the  sleigh  is  ready." 

Without  waiting  for  a  reply  he  dashed  downstairs. 

While  Quincy  was  donning  his  sober  suit  of  black,  with 
a  Prince  Albert  coat  and  white  tie,  Alice  had  put  on  an 
equally  so'ber  costume  of  fawn  colored  silk,  with  collar  and 
cuffs  of  dainty  lace,  with  little  dashes  of  pink  ribbon,  bf 
way  of  contrast  in  color. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

THE   SURPRISE   PARTY. 

FTER  Alice  had  taken  her  place  on  the  back  seat  in 
the  double  sleigh,  Quincy  started  to  take  his  place  on 
the  front  seat,  beside  'Zekiel,  but  the  latter  motioned  him 
to  sit  beside  Alice,  and  Quincy  did  so  without  needing  any 
urging. 

As  'Zekiel  took  up  the  reins,  Quincy  leaned  forward  and 
touched  him  on  the  shoulder. 

"I've  just  thought,"  said  he,  "that  I've  made  a  big  blun 
der  and  I  can't  see  how  I  can  repair  it." 

"What's  the  matter?"  asked  'Zekiel;  and  Alice  turned  an 
inquiring  face  towards  Quincy. 

"The  fact  is,"  Quincy  continued,  "I  ordered  some  ice 
cream  and  cake  sent  down  from  the  city  for  the  show  to 
night,  but  I  forgot,  I  am  ashamed  to  say,  to  make  arrange 
ments  to  have  it  sent  up  to  Deacon  Mason's.  It  will  be 
directed  to  him,  but  the  station  agent  won't  be  likely  to 
send  it  up  before  to-morrow." 

"What  time  is  it?"  asked  'Zekiel. 

Quincy  looked  at  his  watch  and  replied,  "It  is  just  half- 
past  four." 

"Wh>  do  we  go  so  early?"  inquired  Alice,  "they  will  not 
have  tea  till  six." 

"Oh,"  said  'Zekiel,  "I  intended  to  give  you  a  sleigh  ride 
first  anyway.  Now  with  this  pair  of  trotters  I  am  going  to 
take  you  over  to  Eastborough  Centre  and  have  you  back  at 
Deacon  Mason's  barn  door  in  just  one  hour  and  with  appe 
tites  that  it  will  take  two  suppers  to  satisfy." 

With  this  'Zekiel  whipped  up  his  horses  and  they  dashed 


228  QUINCY  ADAMS  SAWYER. 

off  towards  the  town.  A  short  distance  beyond  Uncle  Ike's 
chicken  coop  they  met  Abner  Stiles  driving  home  from  the 
Centre.  He  nodded  to  'Zekiel,  but  Quincy  did  not  notice 
:nim,  being  engaged  in  conversation  with  Alice  at  the  time. 
They  reached  the  station,  and  Quincy  gave  orders  to  have 
the  material  sent  up,  so  that  it  would  arrive  at  about  half- 
past  nine.  'Zekiel  more  than  kept  his  promise,  for  they 
reached  Deacon  Mason's  barn  at  exactly  twenty-nine  min 
utes  past  five.  Hiram  was  on  hand  to  put  up  the  horses, 
and  told  Quincy  in  a  whisper  that  some  of  the  boys  thought 
it  was  mighty  mean  not  to  invite  the  Pettengill  folks  and 
their  boarder. 

The  sharp  air  had  whetted  the  appetites  of  the  travellers 
during  their  six-mile  ride,  and  they  did  full  justice  to  the 
nicely-cooked  food  that  the  Deacon's  wife  placed  before 
them.  Supper  was  over  at  quarter  before  seven,  and  in 
half  an  hour  the  dishes  were  washed  and  put  away  and  the 
quartette  of  young  folks  adjourned  to  the  parlor. 

Quincy  took  his  seat  at  the  piano  and  began  playing  a 
popular  air. 

"Oh,  let  us  sing  something,"  cried  Huldy.  "You  know 
I  have  been  taking  lessons  from  Professor  Strout,  and  he 
says  I  have  improved  greatly.  If  he  says  it  you  know  it 
must  be  so;  and,  did  you  know  Alice,  that  'Zekiel  has  a 
fine  baritone  voice?" 

"We  used  to  siing  a  good  deal  together,"  said  Alice,  "but 
I  was  no  judge  of  voices  then." 

"Well,  'Zeke  don't  know  a  note  of  music,"  continued 
Huldy,  "but  he  has  a  quick  ear  and  he  seems  to  know  natu 
rally  just  how  to  use  his  voice." 

"Oh,  nonsense,"  said  'Zekiel,  "I  don't  know  how  to  sing,  I 
only  hum  a  little.  Sing  us  something,  Mr.  Sawyer,"  said 
he. 

Quincy  sang  a  song  very  popular  at  the  time,  entitled 
"The  Jockey  Hat  and  Feather."  All  four  joined  in  the 


THE  SURPRISE  PARTY.  229 

chorus,  and  at  the  close  the  room  rang-  with  laughter, 
Quincy  then  struck  up  another  popular  air,  "Pop  Goes  the 
Weasel,"  and  this  was  sung  by  the  four  with  great  gusto. 
Then  he  looked  over  the  music  on  the  top  of  the  piano, 
which  was  a  Bourne  &  Leavitt  square,  and  found  a  copy 
of  the  cantata  entitled,  "The  Haymakers,"  and  for  half  art 
hour  the  solos  and  choruses  rang  through  the  house  and1 
out  upon  the  evening  air. 

Mrs.  Mason  looked  in  the  door  and  said,  "I  wouldn't 
sing  any  more  now,  it  is  nearly  eight  o'clock." 

And  thus  admonished  they  began  talking  of  Tilly  James's 
engagement  to  Sam  Hill  and  the  sale  of  the  grocery  store, 
which  was  to  come  off  the  next  day. 

"I  wonder  who  will  buy  it?''  asked  Huldy. 

"Well,  I  hear  Strout  has  got  some  backers,"  said  'Zekiel, 
"but  I  don't  see  what  good  it  will  be  to  him  unless  he  is 
appointed  postmaster.  They  say  he  has  written  to  Wash 
ington  and  applied  for  the  position." 

Quincy  pricked  up  his  ears  at  this.  He  had  almost  for 
gotten  this  chance  to  put  another  spoke  in  Mr.  Strout's 
wheel.  He  made  a  mental  memorandum  to  send  telegrams 
to  two  Massachusetts  congressmen  with  whom  he  was  well 
acquainted  to  hold  up  Strout's  appointment  at  all  hazards 
until  they  heard  from  him  again. 

A  little  after  seven  o'clock  the  advance  guard  of  the  sur 
prise  party  arrived  at  Hill's  grocery,  which  was  the  ap 
pointed  rendezvous.  Abner  Stiles  drew  Strout  to  one  side 
'and  said,  "I  saw  the  Pettengill  folks  and  that  city  feller  in 
'Zeke's  double  sleigh  going  over  to  the  Centre  at  about  five 
o'clock." 

"So  much  the  better,"  said  Strout. 

"Do  you  know  where  they've  gone?"  inquired  Stiles. 

"No,  but  I  guess  I  can  find  ouV  Strout  replied. 

He  had  spied  Mandy  Skinner  among  a  crowd  of  girls  on 
the  platform.  He  called  her  and  she  came  to  him. 


S30  QULtfCY  ADAMS    SAWYER. 

"Did  Mr.  Pettengill  and  his  sister  take  tea  at  home  to- 
night?" 

"No,"  said  Mandy.  "I  told  them  I  was  going  away  to 
night,  and  Mr.  Pettengill  said  they  were  going  away  too. 
And  Cobb's  twins  told  me  at  dinner  time  that  they  wouldn't 
be  home  to  supper;  and  as  I  didn't  wish  to  eat  too  much, 
considering  what  was  coming  later,  I  didn't  get  no  supper 
at  all.  I  left  Crowley  to  look  out  for  Uncle  Ike,  who 
is  always  satisfied  if  he  gets  toast  and  tea." 

"Don't  you  know  where  they've  gone?"  inquired  Strout. 

"Over  to  the  hotel,  I  guess,"  said  Mandy.  "I  heard  Mr. 
Sawyer  tell  Miss  Alice  that  they  had  good  oysters  over 
there,  and  she  said  as  how  she  was  dying  to  get  some  raw 
oysters.'' 

"Things  couldn't  have  worked  better,"  remarked  Strout, 
as  he  rejoined  Abner,  who  was  smoking  a  cheap  cigar. 
"The  Pettengill  crowd  has  gone  over  to  the  hotel  to  sup 
per.  You  ought  not  to  smoke,  Abner,  if  you  are  going  to 
kiss  the  girls  to-night,"  said  Strout. 

"I  guess  I  sha'n't  do  much  kissin',"  replied  Abner,  "ex 
cept  what  I  give  my  fiddle  with  the  bow,  and  that  fiddle  of 
mine  is  used  to  smoke/' 

Strout  looked  around  and  saw  that  the  whole  party  had 
assembled.  There  were  about  fifty  in  all,  very  nearly 
equally  divided  as  regarded  numbers  into  fellows  and  girls. 

"Now  I  am  going  ahead,"  said  Strout,  "to  interview  the 
old  lady,  before  we  jump  in  on  them.  The  rest  of  you  just 
follow  Abner  and  wait  at  the  top  of  the  hill,  just  round  the 
corner,  so  that  they  can't  see  you  from  the  house.  I  have 
arranged  with  Hiram  to  blow  his  bugle  when  everything  is 
ready,  and  when  you  hear  it  you  just  rush  down  hill  laugh 
ing  and  screaming  and  yelling  like  wild  Injuns.  Come  in 
the  back  door,  right  into  the  big  kitchen,  and  when  Miss 
Huldy  comes  into  the  room  you  just  wait  till  I  deliver  my 
speech." 


THE   SURPRISE   PARTY.  231 

Strout  started  off,  and  the  party  followed  Abner  to  the 
appointed  waiting-  place. 

S'trout  knocked  lightly  at  the  kitchen  door,  and  it  was 
opened  by  Mrs.  Mason. 

"Is  the  Deacon  at  home?"  inquired  die,  endeavoring  to 
disguise  his  voice. 

"No,"  said  Mrs.  'Mason,  "he  has  gone  to  Eastborough 
Centre  on  some  business,  but  told  me  he  would  be  back 
about  half  past  nine." 

"Is  Hiram  here?"  asked  Strout. 

"He's  out  in  the  kitchen  polishing-  up  'his  bugle/'  said 
Mrs.  Mason.  "But  come  in  a  minute,  Mr.  Strout,  I  have 
got  something-  to  tell  you." 

Strout  stepped  in  and  quietly  closed  the  door. 

"What's  the  matter,  Mrs.  Mason?  I  hope  Huldy  isn't 
sick." 

"No,"  said  she,  "it's  unfortunate  it  >has  happened  as  it 
has,  but  it  couldn't  be  avoided.  You  see  she  invited  some 
company  to  tea,  and  I  supposed  that  they  would  have  gone 
home  long  'fore  this.  You  see,  Huldy  don't  suspect  noth 
ing,  and  she  has  asked  them  to  spend  the  evening,  and  I 
dbn't  see  how  in  the  world  I  am  going  to  get  rid  of  them.'' 

"Don't  do  it,"  said  Strout.  "Extend  to  them  an  invita 
tion  in  my  name  to  remain  and  enjoy  the  evening's  festivi 
ties  with  us.  No  doubt  Miss  Huldy  will  be  pleased  to  have 
them  stay.'' 

"I  know  she  will,"  said  Mrs.  Mason,  "and  I'll  give  them 
your  invite  as  soon  as  you're  ready." 

"Well,  Mrs.  Mason/'  said  Strout,  "just  tell  Hiram  I  am 
ready  to  have  him  blow  that  bugle,  and  when  you  hear  it 
you  can  just  tell  your  daughter  and  her  friends  what's  up." 

Hiram  soon  joined  Strout  outside  the  kitchen  door.  The 
latter  went  out  in  the  road  and  looked  up  the  hill  to  see 
if  his  party  was  all  ready.  Abner  waved  his  hand,  and 


232  QUINCY    ADAMS    SAWYER. 

Strout  rushed  back  to  Hiram  and  cried,  "Give  it  to  'em 
now,  Hiram,  and  do  your  darnedest!" 

Huldy  and  her  friends  were  engaged  in  earnest  conver 
sation,  when  a  loud  blast  burst  upon  the  air,  followed  by  a 
succession  of  piercing  notes  from  Hiram's  old  cracked 
bugle. 

Huldy  jumped  to  her  feet  and  exclaimed,  "What  does 
Hiram  want  to  blow  that  horrid  old  bugle  at  this  time  of 
night  for?  I  will  tell  ma  to  stop  him." 

She  started  towards  the  parlor  door,  when  the  whole 
party  heard  shouts  of  laughter,  screams  from  female  voices, 
and  yells  from  male  ones  that  would  have  done  credit  to  a 
band  of  wild  Comanches. 

All  stood  still  and  listened.  Again  the  laughter,  screams, 
and  yells  were  heard.  This  time  they  seemed  right  under 
the  parlor  window, 

A  look  of  surprise  and  almost  terror  passed  over  Alice's 
face,  and  turning  to  Quincy  unthinkingly  she  said  in  a  low 
whisper,  "What  was  that,  Quincy?  What  does  it  mean?" 

Quincy's  heart  jumped  as  his  Christian  name  fell  from 
the  girl's  lips.  He  put  his  left  hand  over  his  heart  (her 
picture  was  in  the  pocket  just  beneath  it)  a.nd  said  as  natu 
rally  as  he  could,  although  with  a  little  tremor  in  his  voice, 
"It's  all  right,  Alice,  that's  Mr.  Strout's  idea  of  a  surprise 
party." 

"A  surprise  party!"  cried  Huldy,  "who  for?    Me?" 

At  this  moment  Mrs.  Mason  opened  the  door  and  entered 
the  room. 

"Huldy,"  said  she,  "Professor  Strout  wishes  me  to  tell 
you  that  he  and  his  friends  have  come  to  give  you  a  sur 
prise  party,  and  he  wished  me  to  invite  you,"  turning  to 
the  others,  "as  Huldy's  friends  to  remain  and  enjoy  the  fes 
tivities  of  the  evening." 

Then  the  poor  old  lady,  who  had  been  under  a  nervous 
strain  for  the  past  ten  days,  and  who  had  come  nearer  tell- 


THE  SURPRISE  PARTY.  239 

ing  untruths  than  she  ever  had  before  in  her,  life,  began  to 
laugh,  and  then  to  cry,  and  finally  sank  into  a  chair,  over 
come  for  the  moment. 

"I  wish  Abraham  was  here,"  said  she,  "I  guess  Fm  get 
ting  a  little  bit  nervous.'' 

Let  us  return  to  the  great  kitchen,  which  the  members 
of  the  surprise  party  now  had  in  their  possession.  A  dozen 
of  the  men  produced  lanterns,  which  they  lighted,  and 
which  were  soon  hung  upon  the  walls  of  the  kitchen,  one 
of  the  number  having  brought  a  hammer  and  some  nails." 

It  was  a  pound  party,  and  two  young  men  fetched  in  a 
basket  containing  the  goodies  which  had  been  brought  for 
the  supper.  Strout  had  made  arrangements  to  have  the 
hot  coffee  made  at  the  grocery  store,  and  it  was  to  be 
brought  down  at  half-past  nine. 

He  arranged  his  party  so  that  all  could  get  a  good  view 
of  the  door  through  which  Huldy  must  come.  He  stepped 
forward  within  ten  feet  of  the  door  and  stood  expectantly. 
Why  this  delay?  Strout  looked  around  at  the  party.  There 
were  Tilly  James  and  Sam  Hill;  Cobb's  twins,  and  each 
brought  a  pretty  girl;  Robert  Wood,  Benjamin  Bates,  and 
Arthur  Scates  were  equally  well  supplied;  Lindy  Putnam, 
after  much  solicitation,  had  consented  to  come  with  Em 
manuel  Howe,  the  clergyman's  son,  and  he  was  in  the 
seventh  heaven  of  delight;  Mandy  stood  beside  Hiram 
and  his  bugle,  and  Samantha  Green  had  Farmer  Tomp- 
kins's  son  George  for  escort.  It  was  a  real  old-fashioned, 
democratic  party.  Clergymen's  sons,  farmers'  sons,  girls 
that  worked  out,  chore  boys,  farm  hands,  and  an  heiress  to 
a  hundred  thousand  dollars,  met  on  a  plane  of  perfect 
equality  without  a  thought  of  caste,  and  to  these  were  soon 
to  be  added  more  fanners'  sons  and  daughters  and  the  only 
son  of  a  millionaire. 

"Just  give  them  a  call,"  said  Strout,  turning  to  Hiram, 
and  the  latter  gave  a  blast  on  his  bugle,  which  sent  fingers 


234  QUINCY   ADAMS    SAWYEK. 

to  the  ears  of  his  listeners.  The  handle  of  the  door  turned 
and  opened  and  Huldy  entered,  her  mother  leaning  upon 
her  arm. 

They  were  greeted  by  hand  clapping  and  cries  of  "Good 
evening"  from  the  party,  and  all  eyes  were  fixed  upon 
Strout,  who  stood  as  if  petrified  and  gazed  at  the  three  fig 
ures  that  came  through  the  open  door  and  stood  behind 
Huldy  and  her  mother.  Hamlet  following  the  fleeting 
apparition  on  the  battlements  of  the  castle  ait  Elsinore, 
Macbeth  viewing  Banquo  at  his  feast,  or  Richard  the  Third 
gazing  on  the  ghostly  panorama  of  the  murdered  kings  and 
princes,  could  not  have  felt  weaker  at  heart  than  did  Pro 
fessor  Strout  when  he  saw  the  new-comers  and  realized 
that  they  were  there  by  his  express  invitation. 

The  members  of  the  surprise  party  thought  Strout  had 
forgotten  his  speech,  and  cries  of  "Speech!"  "Speech!'' 
"Give  us  .the  speech!"  fell  upon  his  ear,  but  no  words  fell 
from  his  lips.  It  was  a  cruel  blow,  but  no  crueler  than  the 
unfounded  stories  that  he  had  started  and  circulated  about 
the  town  for  the  past  three  months.  Those  who  had 
thought  it  was  mean  not  to  invite  the  Pettengills  and  Mr. 
Sawyer  enjoyed'  his  discomfiture  and  were  the  loudest  in 
calling  for  a  speech. 

The  situation  became  somewhat  strained,  and  Huldy 
looked  up  to  Quincy  with  an  expression  that  seemed  to  say, 
How  are  we  going  to  get  out  of  this? 

Quite  a  number  of  the  party  saw  this  look  and  imme 
diately  began  calling  out,  "Mr.  Sawyer,  give  us  a  speech!" 
"A  speech  from  Mr.  Sawyer!" 

Huldy  smiled  and  nodded  to  Quincy,  and  then  there 
were  loud  cries  of  "Speech!  "Speech!"  and  clapping  of 
hands. 

Abner  Stiles  got  up  and  gave  his  chair  to  Professor 
Strout,  who  sank  into  it,  saying  as  he  did  so,  "I  guess  it  was. 
the  heat." 


THE  SURPRISE  PARTY.  281 

Quincy  stepped  forward  and  bowing-  to  Huldy  and  then 
to  Mrs.  Mason,  addressed  the  party  in  a  low  but  clearly  dis 
tinct  voice. 

"Authorized  by  these  ladies  to  speak  for  them,  I  desire 
to  return  sincere  'thanks  for  this  manifestation  of  your  re 
gard  for  them.  Your  visit  was  entirely  unexpected  by  Miss 
Mason  and  a  great  surprise  to  her.  But  it  is  a  most  pleas 
ant  surprise,  and  she  desires  me  to  thank  you  again  and 
again  for  your  kind  thoughts  and  your  good  company  this 
evening.  She  and  her  mother  join  iin  giving  you  a  most 
hearty  welcome.  They  wish  you  to  make  yourselves  at 
home  and  will  do  all  in  their  power  to  make  the  evening  a 
happy  one  and  one  long  to  be  remembered  by  the  inhab 
itants  of  Mason's  Corner.  The  inception  of  this  happy 
event,  I  learn,  is  due  to  Professor  Strout,  who  for  some 
time,  I  understand,  has  been  Miss  Mason's  music  teacher, 
and  the  ladies,  whose  ideas  I  am  expressing,  desire  me  to 
call  upon  him  to  take  charge  of  the  festivities  and  bring 
them  to  a  successful  close,  as  he  is  no  doubt  competent  and 
willing-  to  do." 

Quincy  bowed  low  and  retired  behind  the  other  members 
of  the  party. 

Quincy's  speech  was  greeted  with  cheers  and  more  clap 
ping  of  hands.  Even  Strout's  friends  were  pleased  by  the 
graceful  compliment  paid  to  the  Professor,  and  joined  in 
the  applause. 

Strout  had  by  this  time  fully  recovered  his  equanimity. 
A  chair  was  placed  upon  the  kitchen  table  and  Abner  Stiles 
was  boosted  up  and  took  his  seat  thereon.  While  he  was 
tuning  up  his  fiddle  the  Professor  opened  a  package  that 
one  of  the  girls  handed  to  him  and  passed  a  pair  of  knitted 
woollen  wristers  to  each  lady  in  the  company.  He  gave 
three  pairs  to  Huldy,  who  in  turn  gave  one  pair  to  her 
mother  and  one  to  Alice.  There  were  several  pairs  over, 


236  QUItfCY  ADAMS   SAWYER. 

as  several  girls  who  had  been  expected  to  join  the  party  had 
not  come. 

"Now,  Mrs.  Mason,"  said  the  Professor,  "oould  you 
kindly  supply  me  with  a  couple  of  small  baskets,  or  if  not, 
with  a  couple  of  milk  pans?" 

The  Professor  took  one  of  the  pans  and  Robert  Wood 
the  other. 

"The  ladies  wiill  please  form  in  line,"  cried  the  Professor; 
which  was  done.  "Now  will  each  lady,"  said  the  Professor, 
"as  she  marches  between  us,  throw  one  wrister  in  one  pan 
and  t'other  wrister  in  the  other  pan?  Give  us  a  good,  lively 
march,  Abner,"  he  added,  and  the  music  began. 

The  procession  passed  between  the  upheld  pans,  one 
wrister  of  each  pair  thrown  right  and  the.  other  left,  as  it 
moved  on. 

The  music  stopped.  "Now,  will  the  ladies  please  form 
in  line  again,"  said  the  Professor,  "and  as  they  pass  through 
each  one  take  a  wrister  from  the  pan  held  by  Mr.  Wood." 

The  music  started  up  again  and  the  procession  moved 
forward  and  the  work  of  selection  was  completed. 

Again  the  music  stopped.  "Now  will  the  gentlemen 
form  in  line,  and  as  they  march  forward  each  one  take  a 
wrister  from  the  pan  that  I  hold,"  said  the  Professor. 

Once  more  the  music  started  up.  The  line  was  formed, 
the  procession  advanced,  'Zekiel  and  Quincy  bringing  up 
the  rear.  As  Quincy  took  the  last  wrister  from  the  pan 
that  the  Professor  held,  the  latter  turned  quickly  away  and 
beat  a  tattoo  on  the  bottom  of  the  pan  with  his  knuckles 
and  cried  out,  "Gentlemen  will  please  find  their  partners. 
The  wristers  become  the  property  of  the  gentlemen." 

Then  a  wild  rush  took  place.  Screams  of  laughter  were 
heard  on  every  side,  and  it  was  fully  five  minutes  before 
the  excitement  subsided,  and  in  response  to  another  tattoo 
upon  tfie  milk  pan  by  the  Professor,  the  couples,  as  ar 
ranged  by  the  hand  of  Fate,  formed  in  line  and  marched 


THE  SUPvPBLSE  PARTY.  237 

anound  the  great  kitchen  to  the  music  of  a  sprightly  march 
written  by  the  Professor  and  called  "The  Wrister  March," 
and  respectfully  dedicated  to  Miss  Hulda  Mason.  This  an 
nouncement  was  made  by  Mr.  Stiles  from  his  elevated  posi* 
tion  upon  the  kitchen  table. 

The  hand  of  Fate  had  acted  somewhat  strangely.  The 
Professor  and  Mandy  Skinner  stood  side  by  side,  as  did 
'Zekiel  Pettengill  'and  Mrs.  Mason.  Lindy  Putnam  ami 
Huldy  by  a  queer  twist  of  fortune  were  mated  with  Cobb's 
twins. 

But  Fate  did  one  good  act.  By  chance  Quincy  and 
Alice  stood  side  by  side.  She  looked  up  at  him  and  said  to 
her  partner,  "What  is  your  name,  I  cannot  see  your  face?" 

"My  name  is  Quincy,"  said  Sawyer  in  a  low  voice. 

"I  am  so  glad!''  said  Alice,  leaning  a  little  more  heavily 
on  his  arm. 

"So  am  I,"  responded  Quincy  ardently. 

After  the  procession  had  made  several  circuits  of  the 
great  kitchen,  Professor  Strout  gave  a  signal,  and  it  broke 
up,  each  gentleman  being  then  at  liberty  to  seek  the  lady 
of  his  own  choice. 

"What  games  shall  we  play  fust?"  asked  Strout,  taking 
the  centre  of  the  room,  and  looking  round  upon  the  com 
pany  with  a  countenance  full  of  smiles  and  good  nature. 

"Who  is  it?"    "Who  is  it?''  came  from  a  dozen  voices. 

"All  fight,"  cried  Strout;  "that's  a  very  easy  game  to 
play.  Now  all  you  ladies  git  in  a  line  and  I'll  put  this 
one  chair  right  front  of  yer.  Now  all  the  gentlemen  must 
leave  the  room  except  one.  I  suppose  we  can  use  the  parlor, 
Mrs.  Mason?" 

Mrs.  Mason  nodded  -her  head  in  the  affirmative. 

"I'll  'tend  door,"  said  Hiram;  and  he  took  his  position 
accordingly.  After  the  rest  of  the  gentlemen  had  left  the 
room,  Hiram  closed  the  door,  and  turning  to  Huldy  said, 
"Shall  I  call  them,  or  will  you?" 

"You  call  them,"  said  Huldy. 


238  QUINCY  ADAMS    SAWYER. 

"Got  the  handkerchief  ready?"  asked  Hiram. 

Huldy  swung  a  big  red  bandanna  in  the  air.  Opening 
ti  door,  Hdram  called  out  in  a  loud  voice,  "Obadiah  Strout." 

As  Strout  walked  towards  the  line  of  young  girls  they 
called  out  together,  "Mister,  please  take  a  chair." 

Strout  sat  down  in  a  chair.  One  of  the  girls  who  had 
the  bandanna  handkerchief  in  her  hand  passed  it  quickly 
over  his  eyes  and  tied  it  firmly  behind  his  head.  Two  of 
the  girls  then  stepped  forward  and  each  one  taking  one 
of  his  hands  and  extending  it  at  right  angles  with  his  body 
held  it  firmly  in  their  grasps.  At  the  same  instant  his  head 
was  pulled  back  by  one  of  the  girls  and  a  kiss  was  imprinted 
on  his  upturned  mouth. 

"Who  is  it?"  screamed  the  girls  in  unison.  The  holds  on 
the  Professor's  head  and  hands  were  released  and  he  sat  up 
right  in  the  chair. 

"I  kinder  guess  it  was  Miss  Huldy  Mason/'  said  he. 

A  loud  laugh  burst  from  the  girls,  mixed  with  cries  of 
"You're  wrong!''  "You  ain't  right!"  "You  didn't  get 
it!"  "You're  out!"  and  similar  ejaculations. 

The  handkerchief  was  taken  from  his  eyes  and  he  was 
marched  to  the  left  of  the  Hne  of  girls,  which  ran  length 
wise  of  the  kitchen. 

Abner  Stiles  was  the  next  one  called  in,  and  he  was  sub 
jected  to  the  same  treatment  as  had  befallen  his  prede 
cessor,  but  to  the  intense  disgust  of  Professor  Strout  he  saw 
Hiram  Maxwell  come  on  tiptoe  from  the  parlor  door,  lean 
over  and  kiss  Abner  Stiles.  The  thought  of  course  ran 
through  his  mind  that  he  had  been  subjected  to  the  same 
treatment.  He  was  on  the  point  of  protesting  at  this  way 
of  conducting  the  game  when  the  idea  occurred  to  him 
that  it  would  be  a  huge  satisfaction  to  have  that  city  chap 
subjected  to  the  same  treatment,  and  he  decided  to  hold  his 
peace. 

The  next  one  called  was  'Zekiel  Pettengill,  and  he  was 
treated  in  the  same  manner  as  the  Professor  and  Abner  had 


THE  SURPRISE  PARTY.  239 

been;  but  as  Hiram  leaned  over  to  kiss  him,  'ZekieFs  foot 
slipped  upon  the  floor  and  struck  against  Hiram's,  Hiram 
being  in  front  of  him.  'Zekiel  then  put  up  both  of  his  feet 
and  kicked  with  them  in  such  a  way  that  Hiram  was  un 
able  to  approach  him. 

,  'Zekiel  called  out,  "It's  Hiram  Maxwell,''  and  the  room 
rang  with  the  laughs  and  cries  of  the  girls. 

'Zekiel,  having  guessed  who  it  was,  was  marched  off  to 
the  right  of  the  line  of  girls. 

Strout  called  out,  "Let's  play  something  else,"  but  the 
sentiment  of  the  company  seemed  to  be  that  it  wasn't  fair 
to  the  others  not  to  give  them  a  chance,  so  the  game  con 
tinued.  Quincy  was  the  next  one  called,  and  to  still  fur 
ther  increase  the  disgust  of  Strout  and  Abner,  instead  of 
Hiram  leaving  the  door,  as  before,  one  of  the  girls  stepped 
out  from  the  line,  at  a  signal  from  Huldy,  and  kissed 
Quincy.  He  guessed  that  it  was  Miss  Huldy  M'ason,  and 
was  greeted  wi*h  the  same  cries  that  Strout  had  heard.  He 
took  his  place  at  the  left  with  the  latter. 

Strout  leaned  over  and  whispered  in  Abner's  ear,  "That 
was  a  put-up  job.  I'll  get  even  with  Hiram  Maxwell  before 
I  get  through." 

The  game  continued  until  all  the  men  had  been'  called  in. 
With  the  exception  of  Emmanuel  Howe,  none  of  them 
were  able  to  guess  who  it  was.  When  Emmanuel  took 
his  place  by  the  side  of  'Zekiel  he  confided  the  fact  to  him 
that  he  guessed  it  was  Miss  Putnam  on  account  of  the  per 
fumery  which  he  had  noticed  before  he  left  the  house  with 
•'her. 

After  this  game  others  followed1  in  quick  succession. 
There  were  "Pillow,"  "Roll  the  Cover,"  "Button,  Button, 
Who's  Got  the  Button?"  "Copenhagen,"  and  finally  "Post 
Office."  From  all  of  these  games  Alice  begged  to  be  ex 
cused.  She  told  the  Professor  that  she  was  not  bashful  nor 
diffident,  but  that  her  eyesight  was  so  poor  that  she  knew 
she  would  detract  from  the  pleasure  of  the  others  if  she 


240  QUINCY    ADAMS   SAWYER. 

engaged  in  the  games.  The  Professor  demurred  at  first, 
but  said  finally  that  her  excuse  was  a  good  one.  Then  he 
turned  to  Abner  and  remarked  that  he  supposed  Mr.  Saw 
yer  would  ask  to  be  excused  next  'cause  (his  girl  wasn't 
going  to  play. 

But  Quincy  had  no  such  intention.  After  leading-  Alice 
to  a  seat  beside  Mrs.  Mason,  -he  returned  to  the  company 
and  took  part  in  every  game,  entering  with  spirit  and  vi 
vacity  into  each  of  them.  He  invented  some  forfeits  that 
one  girl  objected  to  the  forfeit  exacted  of  her  as  being  all 
out  of  proportion  to  her  offence,  the  matter  was  referred 
to  Quincy.  He  said  that  he  would  remit  the  original  forfeit 
and  she  could  kiss  him  instead.  But  she  objected,  saying 
that  forfeit  was  worse  than  the  other  one.  This  pleased 
Strout  greatly,  and  he  remarked  to  Abner,  who  kept  as 
close  to  him  as  the  tail  to  a  kite,  that  there  was  one  girl 
in  town  who  wasn't  afraid  to  speak  her  mind. 

The  game  of  Post  Office  was  the  most  trying  one  to 
Quincy.  Of  his  own  free  will  he  would  not  have  called 
either  Huldy  or  Lindy,  but  Strout  and  Abner  and  all  the 
rest  of  them  had  letters  for  both  of  these  young  ladies. 
He  was  afraid  that  his  failure  to  call  them  out  might  lead 
to  remark,  as  he  knew  that  Strout  and  Abner  and  Robert 
Wood  were  watching  his  actions  closely.  So,  near  the 
middle  of  the  game,  when  he  had  been  called  out,  he  had  a 
letter  from  England  for  Miss  Lindy  Putnam. 

As  she  raised  her  face  to  his  for  the  kiss  on  the  cheek 
that  he  gave  her,  she  said,  "I  was  afraid  you  had  not  for-( 
given  me,  after  all." 

"Oh,  yes,  I  have,"  said  Quincy,  and  carried  away  by  the 
excitement  of  the  occasion,  he  caught  her  again  in  his  arms 
and  gave  her  another  kiss,  this  time  upon  the  lips. 

At  this  instant  Abner  Stiles,  who  was  tending  door, 
opened  it  and  called  out,  "Takes  a  long  time  to  pay  the 
postage  on  one  letter!5' 

A  little  later  Quincy  was  again  called  out,  and  this  time 


THE  SURPRISE  PARTY.  241 

he  had  a  letter  from  Boston  for  Miss  Mason.  He  kissed 
her  on  the  cheek,  as  he  had  done  with  Lindy.  Huldy  looked 
up  with  a  laugh  and  said,  "Were  you  as  bashful  as  that 
with  Miss  Putnam?" 

"Yes,"  said  Quincy,  "at  first,  but  there  was  double  post 
age  on  her  letter,  the  same  as  on  yours."  And  though 
Huldy  tried  to  break  away  from  him  he  caught  her  and1 
kissed  her  upon,  the  lips,  as  he  had  done  to  Lindy. 

Again  Abner  opened  the  door  and  cried  out  that  the 
mails  would  close  in  one  minute,  and  he'd  better  get  the 
stamps  on  that  letter  quick. 

All  such  good  times  come  to  an  end,  and  the  signal  for 
the  close  was  the  return  of  Deacon  Mason  from  his  visit  to 
town.  He  was  popular  with  all  parties,  and  Stroutites, 
Anti-Stroutites,  and  neutrals  all  gathered  'round  him  and 
said  they  were  having  a  beautiful  time,  and  could  they  have 
a  little  dance  after  supper? 

The  Deacon  said  he  didn't  know  that  dancing  in  itself 
was  so  bad,  for  the  Bible  referred  to  a  great  many  dances. 
"But,"  said  he,  "I  have  always  been  agin  permiscuous  danc 
ing." 

"But  we  ain't  permiscuous,''  said  Tilly  James.  "We  are 
all  friends  and  neighbors." 

"Most  all,"  said  Strout;  but  his  remark  was  unnoticed 
by  all  excepting  Quincy. 

"Well,  under  the  circumstances,"  concluded  the  Deacon, 
"I  don't  object  to  your  finishing  up  with  an  old-fashioned 
reel,  and  mother  and  me  mil  jine  in  with  you,  so  as  to  ooun- 
'  tenance  the  perceedings." 

The  call  was  now  made  for  supper.  A  procession  was 
again  formed,  each  gentleman  taking  the  lady  who  had 
accompanied  him  to  the  party.  They  all  filed  into  the 
dining-room  and  took  their  places  around  the  long  table. 
The  most  of  them  looked  at  its  contents  with  surprise  and 
delight.  Instead  of  seeing  only  home-made  cakes,  and  pies, 
and  dishes  of  nuts,  and  raisins,  and  apples,  that  they  had 


242  QUINCY   ADAMS   SAWYER. 

expected,  occupying  the  centre  of  the  table,  they  gazed 
upon  a  large  frosted  cake,  in  the  centre  of  which  arose  what 
resembled  the  spire  of  a  church,  made  of  sugar  and  adorned 
with  small  American  flags  and  streamers  made  cf  various 
colored  silk  ribbons.  Flanking  the  centrepiece  at  each  cor 
ner  were  large  dishes  containing  mounds  of  jelly  cake, 
pound  cake,  sponge  cake,  and  angel  cake.  On  either  side  of 
the  centrepiece,  shaped  in  fancy  moulds,  were  two  large 
dishes  of  ice  cream,  a  third  full  of  sherbet,  and  the 
fourth  one  filled  with  frozen  pudding.  In  the  vacant  spaces 
about  the  larger  dishes  were  smaller  plates  containing  the 
home-made  pies  and  cake,  and  the  apples,  oranges,  dates, 
figs,  raisins,  nuts,  and  candy  taken  from  the  pound  packages 
brought  by  the  members  of  the  surprise  party.  Piled  upon 
the  table  in  heaps  were  the  fifty  boxes  containing  the  souve 
nir  gifts  that  Quincy  had  ordered. 

As  they-  took  their  places  about  the  table,  Quincy  felt  it 
incumbent  upon  him  to  say  something.  Turning  to  the 
Professor  he  addressed  him: 

"Professor  Strout,  I  think  it  is  my  duty  to  inform  you 
that  I  have  made  this  little  addition  to  the  bountiful  supper 
supplied  by  you  and  the  members  of  this  party,  on  behalf 
of  my  friends,  Mr.  and  Miss  Pettengill,  and  myself.  I 
trust  that  you  will  take  as  much  pleasure  in  disposing  of  it 
as  I  have  in  sending  it.  In  the  language  of  the  poet  I 
would  now  say,  'Fall  to  and  may  good  digestion  wait  on 
appetite !' " 

Quincy's  speech  was  received  with  applause.  The  hot 
coffee  had  arrived  and  was  soon  circulating  in  cups,  mug?,, 
and  tumblers.  Everybody  was  talking  to  everybody  else  at 
the  same  time,  and  all  petty  fueds,  prejudices,  and  animosi 
ties  were,  apparently,  forgotten. 

The  young  fellows  took  the  cue  from  Quincy,  who,  as 
soon  as  he  had  finished  his  little  speech,  began  filling  the 
plates  with  the  good  things  provided,  and  passing  them  to 
the  ladies,  and  in  a  short  time  all  had  been  waited  upon. 


THE  SURPRISE  PARTY.  24S 

When  both  hunger  and  appetite  had  been  satisfied,  Quincy; 
again  addressed  the  company. 

"In  those  small  paper  boxes,"  said  he,  "you  will  find  some 
little  souvenirs,  which  you  can  keep  to  remind  you  of  this 
very  pleasant  evening,  or  you  can  eat  them  and  remembei 
(how  sweet  they  were."  A  general  laugh  followed  this  re 
mark.  "In  making  your  selection,"  continued  Quincy,' 
"bear  in  mind  that  the  'boxes  tied  up  with  red  ribbon  are 
for  the  ladies,  while  those  having  blue  ribbons  are  for  the 
gentlemen.'' 

A  rush  was  made  for  the  table,  and  almost  instantly  each 
member  of  the  company  became  possessed  of  a  souvenir 
and  was  busily  engaged  in  untying  the  ribbons. 

Again  Quincy's  voice  was  heard  above  the  tumult. 

"In  each  package,"  cried  he,  "will  be  found  printed  on  a 
slip  of  paper  a  noetical  selection.  The  poetry,  like  that 
found  on  valentines,  is  often  very  poor,  but  the  sentiment 
is  there  just  the  same.  In  the  city  the  plan  that  we  follow 
is  to  pass  our  own  slip  to  our  left-'hand  neighbor  and  he  01 
she  reads  it.'' 

This  was  too  'much  for  the  Professor. 

"I  don't  think,"  said  he,  "that  we  ought  to  foller  that 
style  of  doin'  things  jest  because  they  do  it  that  way  in  the 
city.  We  are  pretty  independent  in  the  country,  like  to  do 
things  our  own  way." 

"Oh!  it  don't  make  any  difference  to  me,"  said  Quincy; 
"in  the  city  when  we  get  a  good  thing  w<e  are  willing  to 
share  it  with  our  partners  or  friends;  you  know  I  said  if 
you  didn't  wish  to  keep  your  souvenir,  you  could  eat  it,  and 
of  course  the  poetical  selection  is  part  of  the  souvenir." 

A  peal  of  laughter  greeted  this  sally,  which  rose  to  a 
shout  when  Strout  took  his  souvenir  out  of  the  box.  It 
proved  to  be  a  large  sugar  bee,  very  lifelike  in  appearance 
and  having  a  little  wad  of  paper  rolled  up  and  tucked  under 
one  of  the  wings. 


244 

As  Strout  spread  out  the  slip  of  paper  with  his  fingers, 
loud  cries  of  "Eat  it!"  "Read  it!"  and  "Pass  it  along!" 
came  from  the  company.  The  Professor  stood  apparently 
undecided  what  course  to  pursue,  when  Tilly  James,  who 
was  standing  at  his  left,  grabbed  it  'from  his  fingers,  and 
running  to  the  end  of  the  table,  stood  beside  young  Hill 
with  an  expression  that  seemed  to  say,  "This  is  my  young 
man,  and  I  know  he  will  protect  me." 

Loud  cries  of  "Read  it,  Tilly!"  came  from  all  parts  of 
the  table. 

"Not  unless  Professor  Strout  is  willing,"  said  Tilly  with 
mock  humility. 

All  eyes  were  turned  upon  Strout,  who,  seeing  that  he 
had  nothing  to  gain  by  objecting,  cried  out,  "Oh,  go  ahead; 
what  do  I  care  about  such  nonsense!" 

Tilly  then  read  with  'much  dramatic  expression  the  fol 
lowing  poetical  effusion: 

"How  does  the  wicked  bumblebee 

Employ  the  shining  hours, 
In  stinging  folks  that  he  dislikes, 

Instead  of  sipping  flowers." 

Another  loud  laugh  greeted  this;  largely  due  to  the 
comical  expression  on  Tilly  James's  face,  which  so  far  upset 
Quincy's  habitual  gravity  that  he  was  obliged  to  smile  in 
spite  of  himself. 

If  Strout  felt  the  shot  he  did  not  betray  it,  but  turned  to 
Hufldy,  who  stood  at  his  right,  and  said,  "Now,  Miss  Mason, 
let  me  read  your  poetry  for  you,  as  they  do  it  in  the  city." 

Huldy  hesitated,  holding  the  slip  of  paper  between  her 
fingers,  "Oh!  that  ain't  fair,"  said  Strout.  "I've  set  you  a 
good  example,  now  you  mustn't  squeal.  Come,  walk  right 
up  to  the  trough." 

"I'm  no  pig,"  protested  Huldy. 

As  Strout  leaned  over  to  take  the  paper  he  said  in  an 


THE  SURPRISE  PARTY.  245 

undertone,  "No,  you  are  a  little  dear;"  whereat  Huldy's 
iace  flushed  a  bright  crimson. 

Strout  cleared  his  voice  and  then  read: 

"Come  wreathe  your  face  with  smiles,  my  dear, 
A  husband  you'll  find  within  the  year." 

This  was  greeted  with  laughter,  clapping  of  hands,  and 
cries  of  "Who  is  it,  Huldy?" 

The  Professor  looked  at  Huldy  inquiringly,  but  she 
averted  her  eyes.  He  leaned  over  and  said  in  an  undertone, 
"May  I  keep  this?" 

Huldy  looked  up  and  said  in  a  tone  that  was  heard  by 
every  one  at  the  table,"!  don't  care;  if  you  like  it  better  than 
that  one  about  the  bumblebee  you  can  have  it." 

The  Professor  then  turned  to  Quincy  and  said,  "Perhaps 
Mr.  Sawyer  will  oblige  the  company  by  passing  his  poetry 
along,  as  they  do  it  in  the  city." 

Quincy  answered  quickly,  "Why,  certainly,  and  handed 
the  slip  to  his  left-hand  neighbor,  who  chanced  to  be  Miss 
Seraiphina  Cotton,  who  was  the  teacher  in  the  public  school 
located  at  Mason's  Corner. 

She  prided  herself  on  her  elocutionary  ability,  and  read 
the  following  with  great  expression: 

"Though  wealth  and  fame  fall  to  my  lot, 
I'd  much  prefer  a  little  cot, 
In  which,  apart  from  care  and  strife, 
I'd  love  my  children  and  my  wife." 

Strout  laughed  outright. 

"By  the  way,  Mr.  Sawyer,"  said  he,  "have  you  seen  any 
little  cot  round  here  that  you'd  swap  your  Beacon  Street 
house  for?" 

"I've  got  my  eye  on  some  real  estate  in  this  town,"  said 
Quincy,  "and  if  you  own  it  perhaps  we  can  make  a  trade." 


240  QUINCY    ADAMS    SAWYER. 

'Zekiel  Pettengill  passed  his  slip  to  Lindy  Putnam;  it  ran 
thus: 

"  'An  honest  man's  the  noblest  work  of  God,' 
No  nobler  lives  than  he  who  tills  the  sod." 

;  This  was  greeted  with  shouts  and  cries  of  "Good  for 
'Zeke!"  while  one  of  Cobb's  twins,  who  possessed  a  thin, 
high  voice,  cried  out,  "He's  all  wool  and  a  yard  wide." 

This  provoked  more  shouts  and  hand-clapping,  and 
'Zekiel  blushed  like  a  peony. 

Lindy  Putnam  handed  her  slip  to  Quincy;  he  took  in  its 
meaning  at  a  glance  and  looked  at  her  inquiringly. 

Stro-ut  saw  the  glance  and  cried  out,  "Oh,  come,  now; 
don't  leave  out  nothin';  read  it  jist  as  it's  writ." 

Lindy  nodded  to  Quincy  and  'he  read: 

"There  is  no  heart  but  hath  some  wish  unfilled, 
There  is  no  soul  without  some  longing  killed, 
•With  heart  and  soul  work  for  thy  heart's  desire, 
And  turn  not  back  for  storm,  nor  flood,  nor  fire." 

"This  is  gittin'  quite  tragic/'  said  Strout.  "I  guess  we've 
had  all  we  want  to  eat  and  drink,  and  have  listened  to  all  the 
bad  poetry  we  want  ter,  and  I  move — " 

"Second  the  motion,"  cried  Abner  Stiles. 

"And  I  move,"  continued  Strout,  "that  we  git  back  inter 
the  kitchen,  and  have  a  little  dance  jist  to  shake  our  sup 
pers  down." 

After  the  company  returned  to  the  kitchen,  Abner  was 
again  lifted  to  his  elevated  position  on  the  kitchen  table, 
and  the  fun  began  again.  There  was  no  doubt  that  in  tell 
ing  stories  Abner  Stiles  often  drew  the  long  bow,  but  it  was 
equally  true  that  he  had  no  superior  in  Eastborough  and 
vicinity  on  the  violin,  or  the  fiddle,  as  he  preferred  to  call  it. 
•lie  was  now  in  his  glory.  His  fiddle  was  tucked  under  his 


THE  SUKPRISE  PAKTY.  247 

chin,  a  red  silk  handkerchief  with  large  yellow  polka  dots 
protecting  the  violin  from  injury  from  -his  stubbly  beard 
rather  than  his  chin  from  being  injured  by  the  instrument. 

After  a  few  preliminary  chords,  Abner  struck  up  the 
peculiar  dance  movement  very  popular  in  those  days,  called 
"The  Cure."  As  if  prearranged,  Hiram  Maxwell  and  Mandy 
Skinner  ran  to  the  centre  of  the  room  and  began  singing 
the  words  belonging  to  the  dance.  Abner  gradually  in 
creased  the  speed  of  the  melody,  and  the  singers  conformed 
thereto.  Faster  and  faster  the  music  went,  and  higher  and 
higher  the  dancers  jumped  until  the  ceiling  prevented  any 
further  progress  upward.  They  leaned  forward  and  back 
ward,  they  leaned  from  side  to  side,  but  still  kept  up  their 
monotonous  leaps  into  the  air.  Finally,  when  almost  ex 
hausted,  they  sank  into  chairs  hastily  brought  for  them, 
amid  the  applause  of  the  party. 

Quincy  had  seen  the  dance  at  the  city  theatres,  but  ac 
knowledged  to  himself  that  the  country  version  was  far 
ahead  of  the  city  one.  At  the  same  time  it  seemed  to  him 
that  the  dance  savored  of  barbarism,  and  he  recalled  pic 
tures  and  stories  of  Indian  dances  where  the  participants 
fell  to  the  ground  too  weak  to  rise. 

"I  put  my  right  hand  in,"  called  out  one  of  the  fellows. 
Cries  of  "Oh,  yes,  that's  it!"  came  from  the  company,  and 
they  arranged  themselves  in  two  rows,  facing  each  other 
and  running  the  length  of  the  long  room.  They  were  in 
couples,  as  they  came  to  the  party.  Abner  played  the 
melody  on  his  violin,  and  the  fellows  and  girls  sang  these 
words: 

"I  put  my  right  hand  in, 
I  put  my  right  'hand  out, 
I  give  my  right  hand  a  shake,  shake,  shake, 
And  I  turn  myself  about." 

As  they  sang-  the  last  line  they  did  turn  themselves  about 


248  QUINCY  ADAMS  SAWYER. 

so  many  times  that  it  seemed  a  wonder  to  Quincy,  who  was 
an  amused  spectator,  how  they  kept  upon  their  feet. 

Seeing  that  one  of  the  young-  ladies  in  the  line  was  with 
out  a  partner,  Quincy  took  'his  place  beside  her  and  joined 
in  the  merriment  as  heartily  as  the  rest.  Then  followed  all 
the  changes  of  "I  put  my  left  ihand  in,"  "I  put  my  right 
foot  in,"  "I  put  my  left  foot  in,"  and  so  on  until  the  whole 
party  was  nearly  as  much  exhausted  as  Hiram  and  Mandy 
had  been. 

At  this  mom'ent  the  door  leading  to  the  parlor  opened 
and  Deacon  Mason  entered,  accompanied  by  his  wife. 
They  were  greeted  with  shouts  of  laughter.  Quincy  looked 
at  them  with  astonishment,  and  had  it  not  been  for  their 
familiar  faces,  which  they  had  not  tried  to  disguise,  he 
would  not  have  recognized  them. 

Out  of  compliment  to  their  guests,  the  Deacon  and  his 
wife  had  gone  back  to  the  days  of  their  youth.  Probably 
from  some  old  chest  in  the  garret  each  had  resurrected  a 
costume  of  fifty  years  before.  They  advanced  into  the 
room,  smiling  and  bowing  to  the  delighted  spectators  on 
either  side.  They  went  directly  to  Abner,  and  the  latter 
bent  over  to  hear  what  the  Deacon  whispered  dn  his  ear. 
The  Deacon  then  went  to  Strout  and  whispered  something 
to  him. 

Strout  nodded,  and  turning  to  the  company  said,  "As 
it's  now  half  past  'leven  and  -most  time  for  honest  folks  to 
be  abed  and  rogues  a  runnin',  out  of  compliment  to  Miss 
Huldy's  grandpa  and  grandma,  who  have  honored  us  with 
their  presence  this  evenin',  we  will  close  these  festivities 
with  a  good  old-ftas'hioned  heel  and  toe  Virginia  reel. 
Let  'er  go,  Abner,  and  keep  her  up  till  all  the  fiddle  strings 
are  busted." 

Like  trained  soldiers,  they  sprang  to  their  places.  Quincy 
and  his  partner  took  places  near  the  end  of  the  line.  He 
explained  to  her  that  he  had  never  danced  a  reel,  but 


"THE  DEACON  AND  HIS  WIFE  LED  OFF.' 


THE  SURPRISE  PARTY.  249 

thought  he  could  easily  learn  from  seeing-  the  others,  and 
he  told  her  that  when  their  turn  came  she  need  not  fear 
but  that  he  would  do  his  part. 

The  Deacon  and  his  wife  led  off,  and  their  performance 

caused  great  enthusiasm.    Sam  Hill  was  not  a  good  dancer, 

"so  he  resigned  Miss  Tilly  James  to  Professor  Strout.   Miss 

'James  was  a  superb  dancer,  and  as  Quincy  looked  at  her 

his  face  showed  his  appreciation. 

His  partner  saw  the  glance,  and  looking  up  to  him  said, 
"Don't  you  wish  you  could  dance  as  well  as  that?" 

"I  wish  I  could,"  said  Quincy.  "I  have  no  doubt  you 
can,"  he  added,  looking  ait  his  partner's  rosy  face. 

"Well,"  said  she,  "you  do  the  best  you  can,  and  I'll  do 
the  same.'' 

Professor  Strout  and  Tilly  did  finely,  and  their  perform 
ance  gained  them  an  encore,  which  they  granted.  One  by 
one  the  couples  went  under  the  arch  of  extended  arms, 
and  one  by  one  they  showed  their  Terpsichorean  agility 
on  the  kitchen  floor,  over  which  Mandy  Skinner  had 
thoughtfully  sprinkled  a  handful  of  house  sand. 

At  last  came  the  turn  of  Quincy  and  his  little  partner, 
whose  name  was  unknown  to  him.  He  observed  the  grace 
with  which  she  went  through  the  march,  and  when  the 
dance  came  he  wished  he  could  have  stood  still  and 
watched  her.  Instead,  he  entered  with  his  whole  soul  into 
the  dance,  and  at  its  conclusion  he  was  astonished  to  hear 
the  burst  of  applause  and  cheers  that  fell  upon  his  ears, 
i  "Come  along!"  said  his  partner,  and  taking  him  by  the 
hand  she  drew  him  back  through  the  arch,  and  the  dance 
was  repeated. 

Three  times  in  succession  was  this  done  in  response  to 
enthusiastic  applause,  and  Quincy  was  beginning  to  think 
that  he  would  soon  fall  in  his  tracks.  He  had  no  idea  that 
any  'such  fate  would  befall  his  partner,  for  she  seemed  equal 
to  an  indefinite  number  of  repetitions. 


260  QUINCY   ADAMS   SAWYER 

But,  as  has  been  said  before,  to  all  good  things  an  end 
must  come  at  last,  and  when  the  old-fashioned  Connecticut 
clock  on  the  mantelpiece  clanged  out  the  midnight  hour,  as 
if  by  magic  a  hush  came  over  the  company  and  the  jollities 
came  to  an  end.  Then  followed  a  rush  for  capes,  and  coats, 
and  jackets,  and  shawls,  and  hats.  Then  came  good-byes 
and  good-nights,  and  then  the  girls  all  kissed  Huldy  and 
her  mother,  wished  them  long  life  and  happiness,  while 
their  escorts  stood  quietly  by  thinking  of  the  pleasant 
homeward  trips,  and  knowing  in  their  hearts  that  they 
should  treasure  more  the  pressure  of  the  hand  or  the  single 
good-night  kiss  yet  to  come  than  they  did  the  surprise 
party  kisses  that  had  been  theirs  during  the  evening. 

Mrs.  Mason  and1  'Zekiel  had  prepared  Alice  for  her 
homeward  trip.  Quincy  took  occasion  to  seek  out  his  part 
ner  in  the  reel  to  say  good  night,  and  as  he  shook  hands 
with  her  he  said,  "Would  you  consider  me  rude  if  I  asked 
your  name  and  who  taught  you  to  dance?" 

"Oh!  no,"  she  replied';  "my  name  is  Bessie  Chisholm.  I 
teaoh  the  dancing  school  at  Eastborough  Centre,  and  Mr. 
Stiles  always  plays  for  me." 

"Is  he  going  to  see  you  home  to-night?"  asked  Quincy. 

"Oh!  no,"  said  she;  "I  came  with  my  brother.  Here, 
Sylvester,"  cried  she,  and1  a  smart-looking,  country  fellow, 
apparently  about  twenty-one  years  of  age,  came  towards 
them.  "I'm  ready,"  said  Bessie  to  him,  and  then,  turning 
to  Quincy,  "Mr.  Sawyer,  make  you  acquainted  with  my, 
brother,  Sylvester  Chisholm." 

"Ah,  you  know  my  name,"  said  Quincy. 

"I  guess  everybody  in  Eastborough  knows  who  you  are," 
retorted  she  with  a  toss  of  her  head,  as  she  took  her  broth 
er's  arm  and  walked  away. 

Hiram  had  brought  'round  the  Pettengill  sleigh  from  the 
barn.  'Zekiel,  Alice,  Quincy,  and  Mandy  were  the  last  ol 


THE  SURPRISE  PARTY.  25J 

the  party  to  leave.    Ouincy  took  his  old  place  beside  Alice, 
while  Mandy  sat  on  the  front  seat  with  'Zekiel. 

It  was  a  beautiful  moonlight  night  and  the  ride  home  was 
a  most  enjoyable  one. 

"I  am  sorry,"  said  Quincy  to  Alice,  "that  you  could  not 
take  part  in  more  of  the  games.  I  enjoyed  them  very 
much." 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Mason  kept  me  informed  of  your  actions," 
said  Alice  with  a  laugh. 

Halfway  to  Hill's  grocery  they  passed  the  Professor  and 
Abner  walking  home  to  Mrs.  Hawkins's  boarding  house. 
They  called  out,  "Good  night  and  pleasant  dreams,"  and 
drove  rapidly  on.  In  the  Square  a  number  of  the  party 
had  stopped  to  say  'good  night  again  before  taking  the 
various  roads  that  diverged  from  it,  and  another  inter 
change  of  "Good  nights"  followed. 

When  Strout  and  Abner  reached  the  Square  it  was  de 
serted.  There  was  no  light  shining  in  the  boarding  house. 
The  kerosene  lamps  and  matches  were  on  a  table  in  the 
front  entry.  Strout  lighted  his  lamp  and  went  upstairs. 
Strout's  room  was  one  flight  up,  while  Abner's  was  up  two. 
As  they  reached  Strout's  room  he  said,  "Come  in,  Abner, 
and  warm  up.  Comin'  out  of  that  hot  room  into  this  cold 
air  has  given  me  a  chill."  He  went  to  a  closet  and  brought 
out  a  bottle,  a  small  pitcher,  and  a  couple  of  spoons.  "Have 
some  rum  and  molasses,  nothin'  better  for  a  cold." 

They  mixed  their  drinks  in  a  couple  of  tumblers,  which 
Strout  found  in  the  closet.  Then  he  took  a  couple  o<f  cigars 
from  his  pocket  and  gave  one  to  Abner.  They  drank  and 
smoked  for  some  time  in  silence. 

At  last  Abner  said,  "How  are  you  satisfied  with  this 
evenin's  perceedin's?" 

"Wall,  all  things  considered,5'  said  Strout,  "I  think  it  was 
the  most  successful  party  ever  given  in  this  'ere  town,  if  I 
did  do  it." 


252  QULNCY  ADAMS    SAWYER. 

"That's  so,"  responded  Abner  sententiously.  "Warn'i 
you  a  bit  struck  up  when  that  city  feller  come  in?'' 

"Not  a  bit,"  said  Strout.  "You  know  when  I  come  back, 
you  see  it  was  so  cussed  hot,  yer  know  I  said  it  was  the 
heat,  but  I  knew  they  wuz  there.  Mrs.  Mason,  told  me." 

"Did  she?"  asked  Abner,  with  wide-opened  eyes.  "I 
thought  it  was  one  on  you." 

"When  I  went  down  to  the  road  before  the  bugle  was 
blown,"  said  Strout,  "Mrs.  Mason  told  me  they  was  there. 
You  see,  Huldy  didn't  suspect  nothin'  about  the  party  and 
so  she  asked  them  over  to  tea.  She  sorter  expected  they 
would  go  right  .after  tea,  but  they  got  singin'  songs  and 
tellin'  stories,  and  Huldy  saw  they  had  come  to  stay." 

"But,"  said  Abner,  "that  city  fdler  must  have  known 
all  about  it  aforehand  or  how  could  he  git  that  cake  and 
frozen  stuff  down  from  Bos  ting  so  quick?" 

"Didn't  you  say,"  said  Strout,  "that  you  seen  them  going 
over  to  Eastborough  Centre  about  five  o'clock?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Abner,  "but  how  did  he  know  when  it 
was?  Some  one  (must  have  told  him,  I  guess." 

"There  are  times,  Abner  Stiles,"  exclaimed  Strout,  "when 
you  are  too  almighty  inquisitive." 

"Wall,  I  only  wanted  to  know,  so  I  could  tell  the  truth 
when  folks  asked  me,"  said  Abner. 

"That's  all  right,"  said  Strout.  "Cuddent  you  'guess  who 
told  him?  'Twas  that  Hiram  Maxwell.  I've  been  pumping 
him  about  the  city  chap,  and  of  course,  I've  had  to  tell  him 
somethin'  for  swaps.  But  to-morrow  when  I  meet  him 
I'll  tell  him  I  don't  want  anythin'  more  to  do  with  a  tittle- 
tattle  tell-tale  like  him." 

"What  d'ye  think  of  that  pome  'bout  the  bumblebee?" 
drawled  Abner. 

"Oh,  that  was  a  put-up  job,"  said  Strout. 
-  "How  could  that  be?"  asked  Abner,  "when  you  took  it 
out  of  your  own  box?" 


THE  SURPRISE  PARTY.  253 

"Well,"  rejoined  Strout,  ''he'll  find)  I'm  the  wu-stest  kind 
of  a  bumblebee  if  he  stirs  me  up  much  more.  When  my 
dander's  up  a  hornet's  nest  ain't  a  patch  to  me.'' 

"I  kinder  fancied,"  continued  Abner,  "that  the  reason 
he  had  them  fancy  boxes  sent  down  was  because  he  sorter 
thought  our  pound  packages  would  'be  rather  omary." 

"I  guess  you've  hit  it  'bout  .right,"  remarked  Strout; 
"them  city  swells  would  cheat  their  tailor  so  as  to  make  a 
splurge  and  show  how  much  money  they've  got.  I  guess 
he  thought  as  how  I'd  never  seen  ice  cream,  but  I  showed 
him  I  knew  all  about  it.  I  eat  three  sassersful  myself." 

"I  beat  you  on  that,"  said  Abner;  "I  eat  a  sasserful  of 
each  kind." 

As  Abner  finished  speaking  he  emptied  his  glass  and 
then  reached  forward  for  the  bottle  in  order  to  replenish 
it.  Strout's  glass  was  also  empty,  and  being  much  nearer 
to  the  bottle  than  Abner  was,  he  had  it  in  his  possession 
before  Abner  could  reach  it.  When  he  put  it  down  again 
it  was  beyond  his  companion's  reach.  Abner  turned  some 
molasses  into  his  tumbler,  and  then  said,  "Don't  you  think 
'twas  purty  plucky  of  that  city  feller  to>  come  to  our  party 
to-night?" 

"No,  I  don't,"  said  Strout,  "he  jest  sneaked  in  with  'Zeke 
Pettengill  and  his  sister.  He'll  find  out  that  I'm  no  slouch 
here  in  Eastborough.  When  I  marry  the  Deacon's  daughter 
and  git  the  Deacon's  money,  and  am  elected  tax  collector 
agin,  and  buy  the  grocery  store,  and  I'm  app'inted  post 
master  at  Mason's  Corner,  he'll  diskiver  that  it's  harder 
fightin'  facts  like  them  than  it  is  Bob  Wood's  fists.  I  kinder 
reckon  there  won't  be  anybody  that  won't  take  off  their 
hats  to  me,  and  there  won't  be  any  doubts  as  to  who  runs 
this  'ere  town.  That  city  feller's  health  will  improve  right 
off,  and  he'll  go  up  to  Boston  <a  wiser  man  than  when  he 
come  down." 

"That's  so,"  remarked  Abner;  and  as  he  spoke  he  stood 


254 

up  as  if  to  emphasize  his  words.  Before  he  sat  down,  how 
ever,  he  reached  across  the  table  for  the  bottle,  but  again 
Strout  was  too  quick  for  him. 

"I  was  only  goin'  to  drink  yer  health  an'  success  to  yer/' 
said  Abner. 

"All  right,"  said  Strout,  "make  it  half  a  glass  and  I'll 
jine  yer." 

The  two  men  clinked  their  glasses,  drank,  and  smacked 
their  lips. 

"If  you  don't  go  to  bed  now  you  won't  git  up  till  to- 
morrer/'  said  the  Professor. 

"Yer  mean  ter-day,"  chuckled  Abner,  as  he  got  up  and 
walked  'round  to  the  other  side  of  the  table,  where  he  had 
left  his  lamp. 

"I  guess,"  remarked  Strout,  "I'll  have  some  more  fire. 
I  ain't  goin'  to  bed  jest  yet.  I've  got  some  heavy  thinkin' 
to  dio." 

While  he  was  upon  his  knees  arranging  the  wood,  start 
ing  up  the  embers  with  the  bellows,  Abner  reached  across 
the  table  and  got  'possession  of  his  tumbler,  from  which  he 
had  fortunately  removed  the  spoon.  Grasping  the  bottle 
he  filled  it  to  the  brim  and  tossed  it  down  in  three  big 
swallows.  As  he  replaced  the  tumbler  on  the  table,  Strout 
turned  round. 

"There  was  'bout  a  spoonful  left  in  the  bottom  of  my 
tumbler,"  said  Abner,  apologetically.  "Them  that  drinks 
last  drinks  best,"  said  he,  as  he  took  up  his  lamp.  "I  guess 
that  nightcap  won't  hurt  me,"  he  '.muttered  to  himself  as  he 
stumbled  up  the  flight  of  stairs  that  lied  to  his  room. 

The  fire  burned  brightly  and  Strout  resumed  his  seat 
and  drew  the  bottle  towards  him.  He  lifted  it  up  and 
looked  at  it. 

"The  skunk!"  said  he  half  aloud;  "a  man  that'll  steal 
rum  will  hook  money  next.  Wall,  it  won't  be  many  days 
before  that  city  chap  will  buy  his  return  ticket  to  Boston. 


THE  SQKPKISK   PAB'JLT  255 

Then  I  sha'n't  have  any  further  use  for  Abner.  Let  me 
see,"  he  soliloquized,  "what  I've  got  to  do  to-morrer?  Git 
the  Deacon's  money  at  ten,  propose  to  Huldy  'bout  half 
past,  git  home  to  dinner  at  twelve,  buy  the  grocery  store 
'bout  quarter-past  three;  that'll  be  a  pretty  good  day's 
work!" 

Then  the  Professor  mixed  up  a  nightcap  for  himself  and 
was  soon  sleeping  soundly,  regardless  of  the  broad  smile 
upon  the  face  of  the  M'an  in  the  Moon,  who  looked  down 
upon  the  town  with  an  expression  tihat  seemed  to  indicate 
that  he  considered  himself  the  biggest  man  in  it. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

TOWN   POLITICS. 

AT  the  table  next  morning  the  conversation  was  all  about 
the  surprise  party.  The  Cobb  twins  declared  that 
without  exception  it  was  the  best  party  that  had  ever  been 
given  at  Mason's  Corner,  to  their  knowledge. 

After  breakfast  Quincy  told  Ezekiel  that  he  was  going 
over  to  Eastborough  Centre  that  morning;  in  fact,  he  should 
like  the  single  horse  and  team  for  the  the  next  tbnee  days, 
as  he  had  considerable  business  to  attend  to. 

He  drove  first  to  the  office  of  the  express  company ;  but 
to  his  great  disappointment  he  was  informed  that  no  pack 
age  had  arrived  for  him1  on  the  morning  train.  Thinking 
that  possibly  some  explanation  of  the  failure  of  the  bank 
to  comply  wlith  his  wishes  might  have  been  sent  by  mail, 
he  went  to  the  post  office;  there  he  found  a  letter  from  the 
cashier  of  his  bank,  informing  him  that  he  had  taken  the 
liberty  to  send  him  enclosed,  instead  of  the  five  hundred 
dollars  in  'bills,  his  own  check  certified  for  that  amount,  and 
stated  that  the  local  bank  would  undoubtedly  cash  the 
same  for  him. 

As  he  turned  to  leave  the  post  office  he  met  Sylvester 
Chisholm.  Quincy  greeted  the  young  man  pleasantly,  and 
asked  him  if  he  were  in  business  at  ithe  Centre.  Sylvester 
replied  that  he  was  the  compositor  and  local  newsman  on 
the  "Eastborough  Express,"  a  weekly  newspaper  issued 
every  Friday.  The  bank  being  located  in  the  same  building, 
Quincy  drove  him  over.  Sylvester  asked  Quincy  if  he 
would  not  step  in  and  look  at  their  office.  Quincy  did  so. 
A  man  about  thirty  years  of  age  arose  from  a  ch'air  and 


TOWN  POLITICS.  267 

stepped  forward  as  they  entered,  saying,  "Hello,  Chisholm, 
1  have  been  waiting  nearly  half  an  hour  for  you." 

"Mr.  Appleby,  Mr.  Sawyer,"  said  Sylvester,  introducing 
the  two  men. 

"Mr.  Appleby  occupies  a  similar  position  on  the  'Mon- 
trase  Messenger'  to  the  one  that  I  hold  on  the  'Eastbor- 
ough  Express/  "  said  Sylvester,  by  way  of  explanation  to 
Quincy.  "We  .exchange  items ;  that  is,  he  supplies  me  with 
items  relating  to  Montrose  that  are  supposed  to  be  inter 
esting  to  the  inhabitants  of  Eastborough,  and  I  return  the 
compliment.  Here  are  your  items/'  said  Sylvester,  passing 
an  envelope  to  Mr.  Appleby. 

Mr.  Appleby  seemed  to  be  in  great  haste,  and  with  a 
short  "Good  morning"  left  the  office. 

"He  is  a  great  friend  of  Professor  Strout's,"  remarked 
Sylvester. 

"You  speak  as  though  you  were  not,"  said  Quincy. 

"Well,"  replied  Sylvester,  "I  used  to  think  a  good  deal 
more  of  him  at  one  time  than  I  do  now,  not  on  account  of 
anything  that  he  has  done  to  me,  but  I  do  not  think  he  has 
treated  one  of  my  dearest  friends  just  right.  Did  you  hear 
anything,  Mr.  Sawyer,  about  his  being  engaged  or  likely 
to  be  engaged  to  Deacon  Mason's  daughter,  Huldy?" 

Quincy  looked  at  Sylvester  and  then  laughed  outright 

"No,  I  haven't  heard  of  any  such  thing,"  he  replied, 
"and  considering  certain  information  that  I  have  in  my 
mind  and  which  I  know  to  be  correct,  I  do  not  think  I  ever 
shall." 

"Will  you  tell  me  what  that  information  is?"  asked  Syl 
vester. 

"Well,  perhaps  I  will,"  said  Quincy,  "if  you  will  inform 
me  why  you  wish  to  know/' 

"Well,  the  fact  is,"  remarked  Sylvester,  "that  for  quite  a 
while  Professor  Strout  and  my  sister  Bessie,  whom  you  saw 
last  night  at  the  party  and  with  whom  you  danced,  kept 
company  together,  and  everybody  over  here  to  the  Centre 


258  QUmCY  ADAMS  SAWYER. 

thought  that  they  would  be  engaged  and  get  married  one 
of  these  days;  but  skice  that  concert  at  the  Town  Hall, 
where  you  sang,  a  change  of  mind  seems  to  have  come  over 
the  Professor,  and  he  has  not  seen  my  sister  except  when 
they  met  by  accident.  She  thinks  a  good  deal  of  him  still, 
and  although  the  man  has  done  me  no  harm  personally,  of 
course  I  do  not  feel  very  good  toward  the  fellow  who  makes 
my  sister  feel  unhappy." 

"Now,"  said  Quincy,  "what  I  am  going  to  say  I  am 
going  to  tell  you  for  your  personal  benefit  and  not  for  pub 
lication.  I  happen  to  know  that  Miss  Huldy  Mason  is  en 
gaged  definitely  to  Mr.  Ezekiel  Pettengill,  and  has  been 
for  some  time.  Now,  promise  me  not  to  put  that  in  your 
paper." 

"I  promise,5'  said  Sylvester,  "unless  I  obtain  the  same  in 
formation  from  some  other  source." 

"All  right,"  rejoined  Quincy,  and  shaking  hands  with 
the  young  man  he  crossed  the  passageway  and  went  into 
the  bank. 

He  presented  his  certified  check,  and  the  five  hundred 
dollars  in  bills  were  passed  to  him,  and  he  placed  them  in 
his  inside  coat  pocket.  He  was  turning  to  leave  the  bank 
when  he  met  Deacon  Mason  just  entering. 

''Ah,  Deacon,"  said  he,  "have  you  come  to  draw  some 
money?  I  think  I  have  just  taken  all  the  bank  bills  they 
have  on  hand." 

"I  hope  not,"  said  the  Deacon,  "I  kinder  promised  some 
one  that  I'd  be  on  hand  about  noon  to-day  with  five  hundred 
'dollars  that  he  wants  to  use  on  a  business  matter  this  after 
noon.'' 

Quincy  took  the  Deacon  by  the  arm  and  pulled  him  one 
side,  out  of  hearing  of  any  other  person  in  the  room 

"Say,  Deacon  Mason,  I  am  going  to  ask  you  a  question, 
which,  of  course,  you  can  answer  or  not,  as  you  see  fit;  but 
if  this  business  matter  turns  out  to  be  what  I  think  it  is,  I 
may  be  able  to  save  you  considerable  trouble  n 


TOWN   POLITICS.  258 

"I  don't  think  you  would  ask  me  any  question  that  I 
ought  not  to  answer/'  replied  the  Deacon,  glancing  up  at 
Quincy  with  a  sly  look  in  his  eye  and  a  slight  smile  on  his 
face. 

"Well,"  continued  Quincy,  "are  you  going  to  let  Strout 
have  that  'money  to  pay  down  on  account  of  the  grocery 
store?" 

"Why,  yes,"  -said  the  Deacon,  "I  guess  you  have  hit  it 
j^bout  right.  Strout  seemed  to  think  that  there  warn't 
any  doubt  but  What  he  could  get  the  store,  but  as  'he  said 
the  town  clerk  was  willing  to  endorse  his  note,  I  came  over 
here  last  night  just  on  purpose  to  find  that  out.  I  kinder 
thought  I  was  perfectly  safe  in  letting  him  have  the  money." 

"Oh,  you  would  be  all  right,  Deacon,  financially,  if  the 
town  clerk  or  any  other  good  man  endorsed  his  note;  but 
you  see  Strout  won't  need  the  'money.  I  happen  to  know 
of  another  man  that  is  going  to  bid  on  that  grocery  store. 
How  much  money  do  you  think  Strout  can  command;  how 
high  will  he  bid?" 

"Well,  he  told  me,"  the  Deacon  answered,  "that  he  had 
parties  that  would  back  him  up  to  the  extent  of  two  thou 
sand  dollars,  and  this  five  hundred  dollars  that  I  was  goin' 
to  lend  him  would  make  twenty-five  hundred,  and  he  had 
sort  o'  figured  that  the  whole  place,  including  the  land  and 
buildings  and  stock,  warn't  wuth  any  more  than  that,  and 
that  Benoni  Hill  would  be  mighty  glad  to  get  such  a  good 
offer." 

"That's  all  right,"  said  Quincy,  "but  I  happen  to  know 
i  man  that's  going  to  bid  on  that  grocery  store  and  he  will 
have  it  if  he  has  to  bid  as  high  as  five  thousand  dollars,  and 
he  is  ready  to  put  down  the  solid  cash  for  it  without  any 
notes." 

The  Deacon  glanced  up  at  Quincy,  and  the  sly  look  in  his 
eye  was  more  pronounced  than  ever,  while  the  smile  on  his 
face  very  much  resembled  a  grin. 

"1  guess  it  must  be  some  outside  feller  that  is  a-going  to 


260  QUINCY    ADAMS  SAWYER. 

buy  it  then,"  said  the  Deacon,  "for  I  don't  believe  there  is 
a  man  in  Eastborough  that  would  put  up  five  thousand  dol 
lars  in  cold  cash  for  that  grocery  store,  unless  he  consid 
ered  that  he  was  paying  for  something  besides  groceries 
when  he  bought  it." 

"Well,  I  don't  think,  Deacon,''  continued  Quincy,  "that 
we  need  go  further  into  particulars;  I  think  we  understand 
-each  other;  all  is,  you  come  up  to  the  auction  this  afternoon, 
and  if  the  place  is  knocked  down  ito  Strout  I  will  let  you 
have  the  five  hundred  dollars  that  I  have  'here  in  my  pocket ; 
besides,  it  would  have  been  poor  business  policy  for  you  to 
let  him  have  the  money  on  that  note  before  the  sale;  for 
if  -the  store  was  not  sold  to  him  you  could  not  get  back  your 
money  until  the  note  became  due." 

"That's  so,"  assented  the  Deacon.  "Well,  I've  got  to 
get  home,  cuz  I  promised  to  meet  him  by  twelve  o'clock." 

"So  have  I,"  said  Quincy,  "for  I  have  got  to  see  the  man 
who  is  going  to  buy  the  grocery  store  and  fix  up  a  few  busi 
ness  matters  with  him." 

Both  men  left  the  bank  and  got  into  their  respective 
teams,  which  were  standing  in  front  of  the  building. 

"Which  road  are  you  going,  Deacon?"  asked  Quincy. 

"Waal,  I  guess,  for  appearance's  sake,  Mr.  Sawyer,  you 
better  go  on  the  straight  road,  while  I'll  take  the  curved 
one.  Yer  know  the  curved  one  leads  right  up  to  my  barn 
door." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  said  Quincy,  "I  found  that  out  last 
night;"  and  the  two  men  parted. 

Quincy  made  quick  time  on  his  homeward  trip.  As  he 
neared  the  Pettengill  house  he  saw  Cobb's  twins  and  Hiram 
standing  in  front  of  the  barn.  He  drove  up  and  threw  the 
reins  to  Bill  Cobt>,  saying,  "I  shall  want  the  team  again 
right  after  dinner;"  and  turning  to  Hiram,  he  said,  "Gome 
•down  to  Jacob's  Parlor,  I  want  to  have  a  little  talk  with 
you." 

They  entered  the  large  wood-shed  that  Ezekiel's  father 


TOWN  POLITICS.  261 

had  called  by  the  quaint  name  just  referred  to,  and  took 
their  old  seats,  Quincy  in  the  armchair  and  Hiram  on  the 
chopping1  block  facing  him.  Hiram  looked  towards  the 
stove  and  Quincy  said,  "l!t  is  not  very  cold  this  morning,  I 
don't  think  we  shall  need  a  fire;  besides,  what  I  have  got  to 
i  say  will  take  but  a  short  time.  Now,  young  man,''  con* 
tinued  he,  "how  old  did  you  say  you  were?'' 

"I  am  about  thirty,"  replied  Hiram. 

"You  are  about  'thirty?"  repeated  Quincy,  "and  yet  you 
are  satisfied  to  stay  with  Deacon  Mason  and  do  his  odd  jobs 
for  about  ten  dollars  a  month  and  your  board,  I  suppose." 

"Well,  he  isn't  a  mean  man,"  said  Hiram,  "he  gives  me 
ten  dollars  a  month  and  my  board,  and  two  suits  of  clothes 
a  year,  including  shoes  and  hats." 

"Have  you  no  ambition  to  do  any  better?"  asked  Quincy. 

"Ambition?''  cried  Hiram1,  "why  I'm  full  of  k.  I've 
thought  of  more  than  a  dozen  different  kinds  of  business 
that  I  would  like  to  go  into  and  work  day  and  night  to 
make  my  fortune,  but  what  can  a  feller  do  if  he  hasn't  any 
capital  and  hasn't  got  any  backer?" 

"Well,  the  best  thing  that  you  can  do,  Hiram,  is  to  find  a 
partner;  that's  what  people  do  when  they  have  no  money; 
they  look  around  and  find  somebody  who  has." 

"You  mean,"  said  Hiram,  "that  I've  got  to  look  'round 
and  find  some  one  who  has  got  some  money,  who's  willin'  to 
let  me  have  part  of  <it.  There's  lots  of  fellers  in  Easitbor- 
ough  that  have  got  money,  but  they  hang  to  it  tighter'n  the 
bark  to  a  tree." 

"And  yet,"  said  Quincy,  "a  man  like  Obadiah  Strout 
can  go  around  this  town  and  get  parties  to  back  him  up  to 
the  extent  of  twenty-five  hundred  dollars." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  answered  Hiram,  "but  he  couldn't  do 
that  if  the  parties  didn't  have  a  mortgage  on  the  place,  and 
o'  course  if  Strout  can't  keep  up  his  payments  they'll  grab 
the  store  and  get  the  hull  business.  I  happen  to  know  that 
one  of  the  parties  that's  goin'  to  put  his  name  on  one  of 


262  QUINCY   ADAMS  SAWYER. 

Sprout's  notes  said  quietly  to  another  party  that  told  a 
feller  that  I  heerd  it  'from  that  it  wouldn't  be  more'n  a  year 
afore  he'd  be  runnin'  that  grocery  store  himself." 

"Well,  Hiram  Maxwell,  I've  got  some  money  that  I  am 
not  using  just  now.  You  know  that  I've  got  quite  a  large 
account  to  settle  with  that  Professor  Strout,  and  I  can  af 
ford  to  pay  pretty  handsomely  to  get  even  with  him.  Now 
do  you  think  if  you  had  that  grocery  store  that  you  could 
make  a  success  of  it?" 

"Could  I?''  cried  Hiram,  "waal,  I  know  I  could.  I  know 
every  man,  woman,  and  child  in  this  town,  and  there  isn't 
one  of  them  that's  got  anythin'  agin  me  that  I  knows  of." 

"Td  back  you  up,'5  said  Quincy,  "but  I've  got  something 
against  you,  and  I  will  not  agree  to  put  my  money  into  that 
store  unftil  you  explain  to  me  something  that  you  told  me 
several  weeks  ago.  I  don't  say  but  that  you  told  me  the 
truth  as  far  as  k  went,  but  you  didn't  tell  me  the  whole 
truth,  and  that's  what  I  find  fault  with  you  for." 

Hiram's  eyes  had  dilated,  and  he  looked  at  Quincy  with  a 
wild  glance  of  astonishment.  Could  he  believe  his  ears? 
Here  was  this  young  man,  a  •millionaire's  son,  saying  that 
he  would  have  backed  him  up  in  business  burt  for  the  fact 
that  he  had  told  him  a  wrong  story7.  Hiram  scratched  his 
head  and  looked  perplexed. 

"True  as  I  live,  Mr.  Sawyer,  I  don't  remember  ever 
tellin'  you  a  lie  since  I've  known  yer.  I  may  have  added 
a  little  somethin'  to  some  of  my  stories  that  I  have  brought 
inter  yer,  jest  to  make  them  a  little  more  interestin',  and 
p'r'aps  ter  satisfy  a  little  pussonal  spite  that  I  might  have 
agin  some  o'  the  parties  that  I  was  tellin'  yer  about,  but  I 
know  as  well's  I'm  slandin'  here  that  I  never  told  yer 
nothin'  in  the  way  of  a  lie  to  work  yer  any  injury.  You've 
alwus  treated  me  white,  and  if  there's  one  thing  that  Mandy 
Skinner  says  she  can't  abear,  it's  a  man  that  tells  lies." 

"Then,"  remarked  Quincy  with  a  smile,  "you  think  a 
good  deal  of  Miss  Mandy  Skinner's  opinion?" 


TOWIST  POLITICS.  26S 

"I  ain't  never  seen  any  girl  whose  opinion  I  think  more 
of,"  answered  Hiram. 

"Did  you  ever  see.  any  girl  that  you  thought  more  of?" 
continued  Quincy. 

"Waal,  I  guess  it's  an  open  secret  'round  town,"  said 
Hiram,  "that  I'd  marry  her  quicker'n  ligihtrmn',  if  she'd  t 
have  me." 

"Well,  why  won't  she  have  you?''  persisted  Quincy. 

"That's  easy  to  answer,"  said  Hiram.  "You  stated  the 
situation  purty  plainly  yourself  when  you  counted  up  my 
income,  ten  dollars  a  month  and  my  food  and  two  suits  of 
clothes.  How  could  I  pervide  for  Mandy  out  o* 
that?" 

"Well,"  asked  Quincy,  "supposing  I  bought  that  grocery 
store  for  you  and  you  got  along  well  and  made  money. 
Do  you  think  Mandy  would  consent  to  become  Mrs.  Max 
well?" 

"I  can't  say  for  sure,  Mr.  Sawyer,  but  I  think  Miss  Mandy 
Skinner  would  be  at  a  loss  for  any  good  reason  for  refusin' 
me,  in  case  what  you  jest  talked  about  come  to  pass,'*  said 
Hiram. 

"Now,"  proceeded  Quincy,  "we  will  settle  that  little  mat' 
ter  that  I  referred  to  a  short  time  ago.  You  remember  you 
were  telling  me  your  war  experiences.  You  said  you  were 
never  shot,  but  that  you  were  hit  with  a  fence  rail  at  the 
battle  of  Cedar  Mountain." 

"Waal,  I  guess  if  you  git  my  war  record  you  will  find 
I  didn't  tell  yer  any  lie  about  that." 

"Well,  no,"  said  Quincy,  "that's  all  right;  but  why  didn't 
you  tell  me  that  on  one  occasion,  when  the  captain  of  your 
company  was  shot  down,  together  with  half  the  attacking 
force,  that  you  took  his  body  on  your  back  and  bore  him 
off  the  field,  at  the  same  time  sounding  the  retreat  with 
your  bugle?  Why  didn't  you  tell  me  that  on  two  separate 
occasions,  when  the  color  sergeants  of  your  company  wers 


264  QUESTCY   ADAMS    SAW  FEB. 

shot  and  the  flag  fell  from  their  grasp,  that  you  took  the 
flag  and  bore  it  forward,  sounding  the  charge,  until  you 
were  relieved  of  your  double  duty?  In  other  words,  when 
there  were  so  many  good  things  that  you  could  say  for 
yourself,  why  didn't  you  say  them?" 

•Hiram  thought  for  a  moment  and  then  he  said,  "Waal, 
I  didn't  think  that  I  had  any  right  to  intercluoe  outside  mat 
ters  not  connected  with  what  we  were  talkin'  about.  You 
asked  me  if  I'd  ever  been  shot,  and  I  told  yer  how  I  got 
hit;  but  I  didn't  consider  the  luggin'  the  cap'n  off  the  field 
or  h'istin'  Old  Glory,  when  there  wasn't  anybody  else  to 
attend  to  it  jest  that  minute,  come  under  the  head  of  bein' 
shot." 

Quincy  laughed  outright  and  extended  his  hand,  which 
Hiram  took.  Quincy  gave  it  a  hearty  shake  and  said, 
"Hiram,  I  think  you're  all  right.  I've  decided  to  buy  that 
grocery  store  for  you  for  two  reasons.  The  first  is  that 
you  have  served  me  well;  Mandy  has  been  very  kind  and 
attentive  to  me,  and  I  want  to  see  you  both  prosper  and  be 
happy.  My  second  reason  relates  to  the  Professor,  and, 
of  course,  does  not  need  any  explanation,  so  far  as  you're 
concerned.  Now,  you  go  up  to  the  house,  put  on  your  best 
suit  of  clothes,  tell  the  Deacon  that  I  want  your  company 
this  afternoon;  I  wi'll  drive  up  your  way  about  two  o'clock, 
and  we  will  go  to  the  auction." 

While  these  events  were  taking  place,  others,  perhaps 
equally  interersting,  were  transpiring  in  another  part  of 
Mason's  Corner.  The  Professor  had  not  arisen  until  late,, 
but  ten  o'clock  found  him  dressed  in  his  best  and  survey 
ing  his  personal  appearance  with  a  pleased  expression.  He 
felt  that  this  was  a  day  big  with  the  fate  of  Professor  Strout 
and  Mason's  Corner! 

When  he  left  Mrs.  Hawkins's  boarding  house  be  went 
straight  to  Deacon  Mason's. 

"Is  the  Deacon  in?"  he  asked,  as  pleasant-faced  Mrs< 
'Mason  opened  the  door. 


TOWN  POLITICS.  285 

"No,  he  has  gone  over  to  the  Centre.  He  saidi  he'd  got 
to  go  to  the  bank  to  get  some  money  for  somebody,  but 
that  he'd  be  back  'tween  'leven  and  twelve." 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,"  said  Strout,  stepping  inside  the 
door;  "is  Miss  Huldy  in?" 

"Yes,  she's  in  -the  parlor;  she  went  in  to  practise  on  her 
music  lesson,  but  I  guess  she's  reading  a  book  instead,  for 
I  haven't  heard  (the  piano  since  she  went  in  half  an  hour 
ago." 

"Waal,  I'll  step  in  and  have  a  little  chat  with  her  whilst 
I'm  waiting  for  the  Deacon,"  said  the  Professor;  "but  you 
just  let  me  know  as  soon  as  the  Deacon  comes,  won't  you, 
Mrs.  Mason?" 

Mrs.  Mason  replied  that  she  would,  and  the  Professor 
opened  the  parlor  door  and  stepped  in. 

"Oh,  good  morning,  Miss  Mason,"  said  the  Professor;  "I 
hope  I  see  you  enjoying  your  usual  good  health  after  last 
evening's  excitement.'' 

Huldy  arose  and  shook  hands  with  the  Professor. 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  she,  "I  got  up  a  little  late  this  morning, 
but  I  never  felt  better  in  my  life.  It  was  very  kind  of 
you,  Mr.  Strout,  and  of  my  other  friends,  to  show  your  ap 
preciation  in  such  a  pleasant  manner,  and  I  shall  never  for 
get  your  kindness." 

"Waal,  you  know,  I've  always  taken  a  great  interest  in 
you,  Miss  Mason." 

"I  know  you  have  in  my  singing,"  answered  Huldy,  "and 
I  know  that  I  have  improved  a  great  deal  since  you  have; 
been  giving  me  lessons."  \ 

"But  I  don't  refer  wholly  -to  your  singin',"  said  the  Pro 
fessor. 

"Oh,  you  mean  my  playing,''  remarked  Huldy.  "Well, 
I  don't  know  that  I  shall  ever  be  a  brilliant  performer  on 
the  piano,  but  I  must  acknowledge  that  you  have  been  the 
cause  of  my  improving  in  that  respect  also." 

"Waal,  I  don't  mean,"  continued  the  Professor,  "jes* 


266  QUIXCY   ADAMS  SAWYER, 

your  singin'  and  your  playin'.  I've  been  interested  in  you 
as  a  whole." 

"I  don't  exactly  see  what  you  mean  by  that,  Mr.  Strout, 
unless  you  mean  my  ability  as  a  housekeeper.  I  am  afraid 
if  you  ask  my  mother,  she  will  not  give  me  a  very  flattering 
recommendation." 

"Oh,  you  know  enough  about  ho>usekeepin'  to  satisfy 
me,''  said  the  Professor. 

Huldy  by  this  time  divined  what  was  on  the  Professor's 
mind ;  in  fact,  she  had  known  it  for  some  time,  but  had  as 
sured  herself  that  he  would  never  have  the  courage  to  put 
his  hints,  and  suggestions,  and  allusions,  into  an  actual  de 
claration.  So  she  replied  with  some  asperity,  "What  made 
you  think  I  was  looking  for  a  situation  as  housekeeper?" 

"Oh,  nothin',"  said  he,  "I  wasn't  thinkin'  anythm'  about 
what  I  thought  you  thought,  but  I  was  a-thmkin'  about 
somiethin'  that  I  thought  myself." 

Huld)''  looked  up  inquiringly. 

"What  wouJd  you  say,"  asked'  the  Professor,  "if  I  told 
you  that  I  thought  of  gettin'  married?" 

"Well,"  replied  Huldy,  "I  think  my  first  question  would 
be,  'have  you  asked  her?'" 

"No,  I  haven't  yet,"  said  the  Professor. 

"Well,  then,  my  advice  to  you,"  continued  Huldy,  "is 
don't  delay;  if  you  do  perhaps  some  other  fellow  may  ask 
her  first,  and  she  may  consent,  not  knowing  that  you  think 
so  much  of  her." 

"Well,  Pve  thought  of  that,"  said  the  Professor.  "I 
guess  you're  right.  What  would  you  say,"  continued  he, 
"if  I  told  you  that  i  had  asked  her?" 

"Well,  I  should  say,"  answered  Huldv,  "that  you  told 
me  only  a  minute  or  two  ago  that  vou  hadn't." 

"Well,  I  hadn't  then,"  said  the  Professor. 

"I  don't  really  see  how  you  have  had  anv  chance  to  ask 
her,  as  you  say  you  have,"  remarked  Huldv,  "in  the  short 


TOWN  POLITICS.  267 

time  that  has  passed  since  you  said  you  hadn't.  I  am 
not  very  quick  at  seeing1  a  joke,  Professor,  out  p'r'aps 
I  can  understand  what  you  mean,  if  you  will  tell  me  when 
you  asked  her,  and  where  you  asked  her  to  marry  you." 

"Just  now!  Right  here!''  cried  the  Professor;  and  before 
Huldy  could  interpose  he  had  arisen  from  his  chair  and 
had  fallen  on  his  knees  before  her. 

Huldy  looked  at  him  with  a  startled  expression,  then  as 
the  whole  matter  dawned  upon  her  she  burst  into  a  loud 
laugh.  The  Professor  looked  up  with  a  grieved  expression 
on  his  face.  Huldy  became  grave  instantly. 

"I  wasn't  laughing  at  you,  Professor.  I'm  sure  I'm 
grateful  for  your  esteem  and  friendship,  but  it  never  en 
tered  my  head'  till  this  •moment  that  you  had  any  idea  of 
asking  me  to  be  your  wife.  What  made  you  think  such  a 
thing  possible?" 

The  Professor  was  quite  portly,  and  it  was  with  some 
little  difficulty  that  he  regained  his  feet,  and  his  face  was 
rather  red  with  the  'exertion  when  he  had  succeeded. 

"Well,  you  ;see,"  said  he,  "I  never  thought  much  about 
it  till  that  city  feller  came  down  here  to  board;  then  the 
whole  town  knew  that  you  and  'Zeke  Pettengill  had  had  a 
fattin'  out,  and  then  by  and  by  that  city  feller  who  was 
boardin'  with  your  folks  went  away,  and  I  kinder  thought 
that  as  you  didn't  have  any  steady  feller — " 

Huldy  broke  in,-— "You  thought  I  was  in  the  market 
again  and  that  your  chances  were  as  good  as  those  of  any 
one  else?" 

"Yes,  that's  jest  it,"  said  the  Professor.  "You  put  it  jest 
as  I  would  have  said  it,  if  you  hadn't  said  it  fust." 

'Well,  really,  Professor,"  I  can't  understand  what  gave 
you  and  the  whole  town-  the  idea  that  there  was  any  falling 
out  between  Mr.  Pettengill  and  myself.  We  have  grown 
up  together,  we  have  always  loved  each  other  very  much, 
and  we  have  been  engaged  to  be  married — " 


868  QUINCY    ADAMS    SAWYER. 

"Since  when?"  broke  in  the  Professor,  .excitedly. 

'"Since  the  day  before  I  last  engaged  you  to  give  me 
music  lessons,"  replied  Huldy. 

What  the  Professor  would  have  said  in  reply  to  this  will 
never  be  known;  for  at  that  moment  Mrs.  Mason  opened 
the  door,  and  looking  in,  said,  "The  Deacon's  come.'' 

Strout  grasped  his  hat,  and  with  a  hurried  bow  and 
"Good  morning"  to  Huldy,  left  -the  room,  closing  the  door 
behind  him.  It  must  be  said  for  the  Professor  that  he  bore 
defeat  with  great  equanimity,  and  when  he  reached  the 
great  kitchen  and  shook  hands  with  Deacon  Mason,  who 
had  just  come  in  from  the  barn,  the  casual  observer  would 
have  noticed  nothing  peculiar  in  his  expression. 

"Waal,  Deacon,"  said  he  in  a  low  tone,  "did  you  git  the 
money?" 

"Oh,  I've  'ranged  'bout  the  money,"  said  the  Deacon; 
"but  I  had  a  talk  with  my  lawyer,  and  he  said  it  wasn't 
good  bizness  for  me  to  pay  over  the  five  hundred  dollars 
till  the  store  was  actually  knocked  down  to  you.  Here's 
that  note  of  yourn  that  the  town  clerk  endorsed  las'  night. 
Neow,  when  the  auctioneer  says  the  store  is  yourn  I'll  give 
yer  the  five  -hundred  dollars  and  take  the  note.  I'll  be  up 
to  the  auction  by  half-pasit  two,  so  you  needn't  worry,  it'll 
be  jest  the  same  as  though  yer  had  the  money  in  yer  hand." 

Strout  looked  a  little  disturbed;  but  thinking  the  matter 
over  quickly,  'he  decided  that  he  had  nothing  to  gain  by 
arguing  the  question  with  the  Deacon ;  so  saying,  "Be  sure 
and  be  on  hand,  Deacon,  for  it's  a  sure  thing  my  gettin' 
that  store,  if  I  have  the  cash  to  pay  down,"  he  left  the  house. 

He  went  up  the  hill  and  turned  the  corner  on  the  way 
back  to  his  boarding  house.  When  he  got  out  of  sight  of 
the  Deacon's  house  he  stopped,  clenched  his  hands,  shut  his 
teeth  firmly  together  and  stamped  his  foot  on  the  ground; 
then  he  ejaculated  in  a  savage  whisper,  Women  are 
wussern  catamounts;  you  know  which  way  a  catamount's 


TOWN  POLITICS.  268 

goin'  to  jump.  I  wonder  whether  she  was  honest  about 
that,  or  whether  she's  been  ioolin'  me  all  this  time;  she'll 
be  a  <sorry  girl  when  I  git  that  stone  and  'lected  tax  collec 
tor,  and  git  app'inted  postmaster.  I've  got  three  tricks 
left,  ef  I  have  lost  two.  I  wonder  who  it  was  put  that  idea 
.into  the  Deacon's  head  not  ter  let  me  have  thet  money  till 
the  sale  was  over.  I  bet  a  dollar  it  wuz  ithet  city  feller. 
Abner  says  thet  he  met  Appleby  on  his  way  back  to  Mon- 
trose,  and  he  told  him  thet  he  saw  thet  city  feller  and  the 
Deacon  drive  off  tergether  from  front  o'  the  bank.  Oh! 
nonsense,  what  would  the  son  of  a  millionaire  want  of  a 
grocery  store  in  a  little  country  town  like  this?"  and  he 
went  into  his  boarding  house  to  dinner. 

A  few  moments  after  two  o'clock  Strout  could  restrain 
his  impatience  no  longer,  and  leaving  his  boarding  house 
he  walked  over  to  the  grocery  store.  Quite  a  number  of 
the  Mason's  Corner  people  were  gathered  in  the  Square,  for 
to  them  an  auction  sale  was  as  good  as  a  show.  Quincy 
had  not  arrived,  and  the  Professor  tried  to  quiet  his  nerves 
by  walking  up  and  down  the  platform  and  smoking  a  cigar. 
The  crowd  gradually  increased,  quite  a  number  coming  in 
teams  from  Montrose  and  from  Eastborough  Centre.  One 
of  the  teams  from  Montrose  brought  the  auctioneer,  Mr. 
Beers,  with  whom  Strout  was  acquainted.  He  gave  the 
auctioneer  a  cigar,  and  they  walked  up  and  down  the  plat 
form  smoking  and  talking  about  everything  else  but  the 
auction  sale.  It  was  a  matter  of  professional  dignity  with 
Mr.  Barnabas  Beers,  auctioneer,  not  to  be  on  too  friendly 
terms  with  bidders  before  an  auction.  He  had  found  that 
it  had  detracted  from  his  importance  and  had  lowered  bids, 
if  he  allowed  would-be  purchasers  to  converse  with  him 
concerning  the  articles  to  be  sold.  It  was  their  business, 
lie  maintained  in  a  heated  argument  one  evening  in  the 
hotel  at  Montrosie,  to  find  out  'by  personal  inspection  the 
condition  and  value  of  what  was  to  be  sold,  and  it  was  his 


270  QUINCY    ADAMS  SAWYER. 

business,  he  said,  to  know  as  little  about  it  as  possible,  for 
the  less  he  knew  the  less  it  would  interfere  with  his  descrip 
tive  powers  when,  ihammer  in  hand,  he  took  'his  position  on 
.the  bench.  Having1  established  a  professional  standing, 
Barnabas  Beers  was  not  a  man  to  step  down,  and  though 
the  Professor,  after  a  while,  endeavored  to  extract  some 
information  from/  the  auctioneer  as  to  whether  there  was 
likely  to  be  many  bidders,  he  finally  gave  it  up  in  despair, 
for  he  found  Mr.  Beers  as  uncommunicaitive  as  a  hitching 
post,  as  he  afterwards  told'  Abner  Stiles. 

About  half-past  two  Deacon  Mason  drove  into  the 
Square,  and  the  Professor  went  to  meet  him,  and  shook 
hands  with  him.  In  a  short  time  his  other  backers,  who  had 
agreed  to  endorse  his  notes  to  the  amount  of  two  thousand 
dollars,  arrived  upon  the  scene,  and  he  took  occasion  to 
welcome  them  in  a  manner  that  could  not  escape  the  atten 
tion  of  the  crowd.  It  was  now  ten  minutes  of  three,  and  the 
auctioneer  stepped  upon  the  temporary  platform  that  had 
been  erected  for  him,  and  bringing  his  hammer  down  upon 
the  head  of  a  barrel  that  had  been  placed  in  front  of  him, 
he  read,  in  a  loud  voice,  which  reached  every  portion  of 
the  Square,  the  printed  notice  that  for  several  weeks  had 
hung  upon  the  fences,  sheds,  and  trees  of  Mason's  Corner, 
Eastborough  Centre,  West  Eastborough,  and  Montrose. 

It  was  now  -three  o'clock,  for  that  hour  was  rung-  out  by 
the  bell  on  the  Rev.  Caleb  Howe's  church.  The  auctioneer 
prefaced  his  inquiry  for  bids  by  the  usual  grandiloquence 
in  use  by  members  of  that  fraternity,  closing  his  oration 
with  that  Often-heard  remark,  "How  much  am  I  offered?" 

The  Professor,  who  was  standing  'by  the  side  of  Deacon 
Mason's  team, called  out  in  a  loud  voice,  "Fifteen  hundred!'' 

"Well,  I'll  take  that  just  for  a  starter,"  said  the  auction 
eer,  "but  of  course  no  sane  man  not  fitted  to  be  the  inmate 
of  an  idiotic  asylum  thinks  that  this  fine  piece  of  ground, 
this  long-built  and  long-established  grocery  store,  filled  to 
overflowing  with  all  the  necessities  and  delicacies  of  the 


TOWN  POLITICS.  271 

season,  a  store  which  has  been  in  successful  operation  for 
nearly  forty  years,  and  of  which  the  good  will  is  worth  a 
good  deal  more  than  the  sum  just  bid,  will  be  sold  for  any 
such  preposterous  figure!  Gentlemen,  I  am  listening." 

Suddenly  a  voice  from  the  rear  of  the  crowd  called  out, 
"T-o-o-t-o  to  to-oo-two  thousand !" 

As  if  by  magic,  every  head  was  turned,  for  the  majority 
of  those  in  the  crowd  recognized  the  voice  at  once.  There 
was  but  one  man  in  Mason's  Corner  who  stammered,  and 
that  man  was  Hiram  Maxwell. 

They  turned,  and  all  saw  seated  in  the  Pettengill  team 
Hiram  Maxwell,  and  beside  him  sat  Mr.  Sawyer  from 
Boston. 

"Oh,  that's  more  like  it,"  said  the  auctioneer.  "Compe 
tition  is  the  life  of  trade,  and  is  particularly  pleasing  to  an 
auctioneer.  The  first  gentleman  who  bid  now  sees  that 
there  is  another  gentleman  who  has  a  better  knowledge  of 
the  value  of  this  fine  property  than  he  has  evinced  up  to 
the  present  moment.  There  is  still  an  opportunity  for 
him  to  see  the  error  of  his  ways,  and  put  himself  on  record 
as  being  an  observing  and  intelligent  person." 

All  eyes  were  turned  upon  Strout  at  these  words  from 
the  auctioneer;  his  face  reddened,  and  he  called  out, 
'Twenty-five  hundred!" 

"Still  better,"  cried  the  auctioneer;  "the  gentleman,  as  I 
supposed,  has  shown  that  he  is  a  person  of  discernment;  he 
did  not  imagine  that  I  was  engaged  simply  to  make  a  pres 
ent  of  this  fine  establishment  to  any  one  who  would  offer 
any  sum  that  suited  his  convenience  for  it.  He  knew  as 
well  as  I  did  that  there  would  be  a  sharp  contest  to  secure 
this  fine  property.  Now,  gentlemen,  I  am  offered  twenty- 
five  hundred,  twenty-five  hundred  I  am  offered,  twenty-five 
hundred — 

Again  a  voice  was  heard  from  the  team  on  the  outer 
limits  of  the  crowd,  "Twenty-five  fifty!" 

The  crowd  again  turned  their  gaze  upon   Strout;  the 


272  QUINCY   ADAMS  SAWYER. 

Professor  was  not  an  'extravagant  man,  and  he  had  saved 
a  little  money.  He  had  in  his  pocket  at  the  (time  a  little 
over  a  hundred  dollars;  he  would  not  put  it  in  the  bank, 
for,  he  argued,  if  he  did  everybody  in  town  would  know 
how  much  money  he  had;  so  he  called  out,  "Twenty-six 
hundred!" 

"Ah,  gentlemen,"  continued  the  auctioneer,  "let  me 
thank  you  for  the  keen  appreciation  (that  you  show  of  a 
good  thing.  When  I  looked  this  property  over  I  said 
to  myself,  'the  bidders  will  tumble  over  themselves  to  secure 
this  fine  property';  and  I  have  not  been  disappointed." 

Again  the  faces  of  the  crowd  were  turned  towards  the 
team  in  which  sat  Quincy  and  Hiram.  Hiram  stood  up  in 
the  team,  and  making  a  horn  with  his  hands,  shouted  at  the 
top  of  his  voice,  for  the  time  overcoming  his  propensity  to 
stammer,  "Twenty-seven  hundred!" 

"Better!  still  better!"  cried  the  auctioneer;  "we  are  now 
approaching  the  figure  that  I  had  placed  on  this  property, 
and  my  judgment  is  usually  correct.  I  am  offered  twenty- 
seven  hundred,  twenty-seven  hundred;  who  will  go  one 
hundred  better?" 

At  this  moment  Abner  Stiles,  who  'had  been  watching 
the  proceedings  with  eyes  distended  and  mouth  wide  open, 
went  up  to  Strout  and  whispered  something  in  his  ear. 
Strout's  face  brightened,  he  grasped  Abner's  hand  and 
shook  it  warmly,  then  turning  towards  the  auctioneer  cried 
out,  "Twenty-eight  hundred '!" 

By  this  time  the  crowd  was  getting  excited.  To  them  it 
was  a  battle  royal;  nothing  of  the  kind  had  ever  been  seen 
at  Mason's  Corner  before.  A  great  many  in  the  crowd 
were  friends  of  Strout's,  and  admired  his  pluck  in  standing 
out  so  well.  They  had  seen  at  a  glance  that  Abner  Stiles 
had  offered  (to  help  Strout. 

Again  the  auctioneer  called  out  in  his  parrot-like  tone, 
"Twenty-eight  hundred!  I  am  offered  twenty-eight  hun 
dred!" 


TOWN  POLITICS.  273 

And  again  Hiram  put  his  hands  to  his  mouth,  and  his 
voice  was  heard  over  the  Square  as  he  said,  "Three  thou 
sand!" 

"Now,  gentlemen,"  continued  the  auctioneer,  "I  am 
proud  to  be  with  you.  When  it  is  my  misfortune  to  stand 
up  before  a  company,  the  members  of  which  have  no  appre 
ciation  of  the  value  of  the  property  to  be  sold,  I  often  wish 
myself  at  home;  but,  as  I  said  before,  on  this  occasion  I  am 
proud  to  be  with  you,  for  a  sum  approximating  to  the  true 
value  of  the  property  offered  for  sale  has  been  bidden.  I 
am  offered  three  thousand — three  thousand — three  thou 
sand — going  at  three  thousand!  Did  I  hear  a  bid?  No, 
it  must  have  been  the  wind  whistling  through  the  trees." 
At  this  sally  a  laugh  came  up  from  the  crowd,  "Going  at 
three  thousand — going — going — going — gone  at  three 
thousand  to — '' 

"Mr.  Hiram  'Maxwell !''  came  from  the  score  of  voices. 

"Gone  at  three  thousand  to  Mr.  Hiram  Maxwell  1"  said 
the  auctioneer,  as  he  brought  down  his  hammer  heavily 
upon  the  barrel  head  with  such  force  that  it  fedi  in,  and, 
losing  his  hold  upon  the  hammer,  that  dropped  in  also. 
This  slight  accident  caused  a  great  laugh  among  the  crowd. 

The  auctioneer  continued,  "According  to  the  terms  of 
the  sale,  five  hundred  dollars  in  cash  must  be  paid  down  to 
bind  the  bargain,  and  the  balance  must  be  paid  within 
three  days  in  endorsed  notes  satisfactory  to  the  present 
owner." 

Quincy  and  Hiram  alighted  from  the  Pettengill  team 
and  advanced  towards  the  auctioneer.  Reaching  the  plat 
form,  Quincy  took  from  his  pocket  a  large  wallet  and  passed 
a  pile  of  bills  to  the  auctioneer. 

"Make  out  a  receipt,  please,"  he  said  to  Mr.  Beers,  "in 
the  name  of  Mr.  Hiram  Maxwell;  the  notes  will  be  madte 
out  by  him  and  endorsed  by  me.  If  you  will  give  a  dis 
count  of  six  per  cent,  Mr.  Maxwell  will  pay  the  entire  sum 


274  QUINCY   ADAMS  SAWYER 

in  cash  within  ten  days;  whichever  proposition  is  accepted 
by  Mr.  Hill  will  be  satisfactory  to  Mr.  Maxwell/' 

The  show  was  over  and  the  company  began  to  disperse. 
Deacon  Mason  nodded  to  Strout  and  turned  his  horse's 
head  homeward.  While  Quincy  and  Hiram  were  settling 
their  business  matters  with  the  auctioneer,  everybody  had 
left  the  Square  with  the  exception  of  a  few  loungers  about 
the  platform  of  'the  grocery  store,  and  Strout  and  Abner, 
who  stood  near  the  big  tree  in  the  centre  of  the  Square, 
talking  earnestly  to  each  other. 

The  auctioneer,  together  with  Quincy  and  Hiram,  en 
tered  the  store  to  talk  over  business  matters  with  Mr.  Hill 
and  his  son.  Mr.  Hill  argued  that  Mr.  Sawyer  was  good 
for  any  sum,  and  he  would  just  as  soon  have  the  notes;  in 
fact,  he  would  prefer  to  have  them,  rather  than  make  any 
discount. 

This  matter  being  adjusted,  Mr.  Hill  treated  the  party 
to  some  of  his  best  cigars,  which  he  kept  under  the  counter 
in  a  private  box,  and  when  Quincy  and  Hiram  came  out  and 
took  their  seats  in  the  team,  they  looked  about  the  Square 
and  found  that  the  Professor  and  his  best  friend  were  not 
in  sight. 

The  next  morning  at  about  nine  o'clock,  Abbott  Smith 
arrived  at  Pettengill's,  having  with  him  Mr.  Wallace  Stack- 
pole.  Quincy  was  ready  for  the  trip,  and  they  started  imme 
diately  for  Bastborough  Centre.  On  the  way  Quincy  had 
plenty  of  time  for  conversation  with  Mr.  Stackpole.  The 
latter  gave  a  true  account  of  the  cause  that  had  led  to  his 
losing  his  election  as  tax  collector  at  -the  town  meeting  a| 
year  before.  He  had  been1  taken  sick  on  the  train  while 
coming  from  Boston,  and  a  kind  passenger  had  given  him 
a  drink  of  brandy.  He  acknowledged  that  'he  took  too 
much,  and  that  he  really  was  unable  to  walk  when  he 
reached  the  station  at  Eastborough  Centre;  but  he  said 
that  he  was  not  a  drinking  man,  and  would  not  have  taken 
the  brandy  if  he  had  not  been  sick.  They  reached  East- 


TOWN  POLITICS.  275 

borough  Centre  in  due  season,  but  made  no  stop,  contin 
uing  on  to  West  Eastborough  to  the  home  of  Abbott 
Smith's  father. 

Here  Quincy  was  introduced  to  'Bias  Smith,  and  found 
that  what  had  been  said  about  him  was  not  overstated.  He 
was  a  tall,  heavily-built  man,  with  a  .hard,  rugged  face,  but 
with  a  pleasant  and  powerful  countenance,  and,  in  the 
course  of  conversation,  ran  the  whole  gamut  of  oratorical 
expression.  He  was  what  New  England1  country  towns 
have  .so  often  produced — a  natural-born  orator.  In  addi 
tion  he  was  an  up-to-date  man.  He  was  well  read  in  his 
tory,  and  kept  a  close  eye  on  current  political  events,  in 
cluding  not  only  local  matters,  but  State  and  National  affairs 
as  well. 

Quincy  gave  him  Strout's  war  record  that  he  had  ob 
tained  from  the  Adjutant-General's  office,  and  it  was  read 
over  and  compared  with  that  of  Wallace  Stackpole,  which 
was  also  in  'Bias  Smith's  possession.  Mr.  Stackpole  had1 
obtained  from  the  town  clerk  a  statement  of  taxes  due  and 
collected  for  the  past  twenty  years,  and  this  was  also  de 
livered  to  Mr.  Smith.  Quincy  confided  to  Mr.  Smith  sev 
eral  matters  that  he  wished  attended  to  in  town  meeting, 
and  the  latter  agreed  to  present  them,  as  requested. 

It  was  finally  settled  that  'Bias  Smith  and  Mr.  Stackpole 
should  .come  over  to  M'ason's  Corner  the  following  Satur 
day  and  see  if  Deacon  Mason  would  agree  to  act  as  mod 
erator  at  the  annual  town  meeting  on  the  following  Mon 
day,  the  warrants  for  same  having  already  been  posted. 

When  Quincy  reached  home  he  found  Hiram  waiting 
for  him.  They  went  into  Jacob's  Parlor  and  took  their 
accustomed  seats. 

"Any  news?''  asked  Quincy. 

"Not  a  word,"  said  Hiram,  "neither  Strout  or  Abner 
have  been  seen  on  the  street  sence  the  sale  wuz  over,  but 
Strout  'has  got  'hold  of  it  in  some  way  that  Huldy's  engaged 
to  'Zeke  Pettengill,  and  it's  all  over  town." 


276  QUINCY    ADAMS    SAWYER. 

At  that  moment  Ezekiel  opened1  the  door  and  stepped 
into  the  shed.  There  was  a  roguish  twinkle  in  his  eye  and 
a  smile  about  his  lips  as  he  advanced  towards  Qumcy. 

"Waal,  the  cat's  out  o'  the  bag,"  said  he  <to  Quincy. 

"Yes,  Hiram  was  just  telling  me  that  Strout  got  hold  of 
it  in  some  way." 

"Yaas,"  said  Ezekiel,  "he  got  hold  of  it  in  the  most  direct 
way  that  he  possibly  could." 

"How's  that,"  asked  Quincy,  "did  Miss  Mason  tell  him?" 

"Yaas,"  said  Ezekiel,  "he  seemed  to  want  a  satisfactory 
reason  why  she  couldn't  marry  him,  and  it  sorter  seemed 
to  her  that  the  best  reason  that  she  could  give  him  was  that 
she  was  engaged  to  marry  me." 

Hiram  nearly  lost  his  seat  on  the  chopping  block  while 
expressing  his  delight,  and  on  Quincy's  face  there  was  a 
look  of  quiet  satisfaction  that  indicated  that  he  was  quite 
well  satisfied  with  the  present  condition  of  affairs. 

"By  the  way,  Hiram/'  said  Quincy,  "I  believe  you  told 
me  once  that  Mrs.  Hawkins,  who  keeps  the  house  where 
the  Professor  boards,  is  Mandy  Skinner's  mother." 

"Yaas,"  said  Hiram,  "Mandy's  father  died  and  her  mother 
married  Jonas  Hawkins.  He  wasn't  much  account  afore 
he  was  married1,  but  I  understand  that  he  has  turned  out 
to  be  a  rale  handy  man  'round  the  boardin"  house.  Mrs. 
Hawkins's  a  mighty  smart  woman,  and  she  knew  just  what 
kind  of  a  man  she  wanted." 

"Well,"  said  Quincy,  "I  want  you  to  tell  Mandy  to  see 
her  mother  as  soon  as  she  can,  and  engage  the  best  room* 
that  she  has  left  in  the  house  for  a  gentleman  that  I  expect, 
down  here  from  Boston  next  Monday  night.  Here's  ten 
dollars,  and  have  Mandy  tell  her  that  this  is  lier  week's 
pay  in  advance  for  room  and  board,  counting  from  to-day." 

"Waal,  I  don't  believe  she'll  take  it,"  said  Hiram;  "she's 
a  mighty  smart  woman  and  mighty  clus  in  money  matters, 
but  she's  no  skin,  and  I  don't  believe  she'll  take  ten  dollars 
for  one  week's  board  and  room." 


TOWN  POLITICS.  277 

"Well,  if  she  won't  take  it/'  remarked  Quincy,  "Handy 
may  have  the  balance  of  it  for  her  trouble.  The  man  wants 
the  room,  and  he  is  able  to  pay  for  it." 

Then  Quincy  and  Ezekiel  went  into  the  house  for  supper. 

The  next  morning-  Quincy  found  that  Uncle  Ike  had  not 
forgotten  his  promise,  for  he  was  on  hand  promptly,  dressed 
for  a  trip  to  Eastborough  Centre.  This  time  they  took  the 
carryall  and  two  horses,  and'  Uncle  Ike  sat  on  the  front 
seat  with  Quincy. 

They  reached  Eastborough  Centre  and  found  Dr.  Tillot- 
son  awaiting1  them.  The  return  home  was  quickly  made 
and  Uncle  Ike  took  the  doctor  to  the  parlor.  Then  he 
went  to  Alice's  room,  <and  Quincy  heard  them  descend  the 
stairs.  The  conversation  lasted  for  a  full  hour,  and  Quincy 
sat  in  his  room  thinking1  and  hoping  for  the  best.  Suddenly 
he  was  .startled  from  his  reveries  by  a  rap  upon  the  door, 
and  Uncle  Ike  said  the  doctor  was  ready.  Quincy  drove 
him  back  to  Eastborough  Centre,  and  on  the  way  the  doctor 
gave  him  his  diagnosis  of  the  case  and  his  proposed  treat 
ment.  He  said  it  would  not  be  necessary  for  him  to  see  her 
again  for  three  weeks,  or  until  the  medicine  that  'he  had  left 
for  her  was  gone.  He  would  come  down  again  at  a  day's 
notice  from  Quincy. 

On  his  return  Mandy  told  him  that  Miss  Alice  was  in 
the  parlor  and  would  like  to  see  him.  As  he  entered  the 
room  she  recognized  his  footstep,  and  starting  to  her  feet 
turned  towards  him.  He  advanced  to  meet  her  and  took 
both  her  hands  in  his.  j 

"How  can  I  thank  you,  my  good'  friend,"  said  she,  "foty 
the  interest  that  you  have  taken  in  me,  and  how  can  I  repay 
you  for  the  money  that  you  have  spent?" 

Quincy  was  at  first  disposed  to  deny  his  connection  with 
the  matter,  but  thinking  that  Uncle  Ike  must  have  told  of 
it,  ne  said,  "I  don't  think  it  was  quite  fair  for  Uncle  Ike, 
after  promising  to  keep  si'lent!" 

''T.t  was  not  Uncle  Ike's  fault,''  broke  in  Alice;  "it  was 


278  QUINCY  ADAMS  SAWYER. 

nobody's  fault.  Nobody  had  told  the  doctor  that  there  was 
any  secret  about  it,  and  so  'he  spoke  freely  of  your  visit  to 
the  city,  and  of  what  you  had  said,  and  of  the  arrangements 
that  you  had  made  to  have  the  treatment  continued  as  long 
as  it  produced  satisfactory  results.  But,"  continued  Alice, 
"how  can  I  ever  pay  you  this  great  sum  of  money  that  it 
will  cost  for  my  treatment?" 

"Do  not  worry  about  that,  Alice,"  said  he,  using  her 
Christian  name  for  the  second  time,  "the  money  is  nothing. 
I  have  more  than  I  know  what  to  do  with,  and  it  is  a  pleas 
ure  for  me  to  use  it  in  this  way,  if  it  will  be  of  any  benefit 
to  you.  You  can  repay  me  at  any  time.  You  will  get 
money  from  your  poems  and  your  stories  in  due  time,  and 
I  shall  not  have  to  suffer  if  I  have  to  wait  a  long  time  for 
it.  God  know-s,  Alice,"  and  her  name  fell  from  his  lips  as 
though  he  had  always  called  her  by  that  name,  "that  if 
half,  or  even  the  whole  of  my  fortune  would  give  you  back 
your  sight,  I  would  give  it  to  you  willingly.  Do  you  believe 
me?"  And  he  took  her  hands  again  in  his. 

"I  believe  you,"  she  said  simply. 

At  that  moment  Mandy  appeared  at  the  door  with  the 
familiar  cry,  "Supper's  ready,"  and  Quincy  led'  Alice  to 
her  old  place  at  the  table  and  took  his  seat  at  her  side. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

THE  TOWN   MEETING. 

THE  next  day  was  Friday.  After  breakfast  Quincy 
went  to  his  room  and  looked  over  the  memorandum 
pad  upon  which  he  had  taken  pleasure  in  jotting-  down  the 
various  items  of  his  campaign  against  the  singing-master. 
As  he  looked  at  the  paid  he  checked  off  the  items  that  he 
had  attended  to,  but  suddenly  started  back  with  an  expres 
sion  of  disgust. 

"Confound  it,"  said  he,  "I  neglected  to  telegraph  to  those 
congressmen  when  I  was  at  Eastborough  Centre  last  Tues 
day.  I  hope  I'm  not  too  late."  He  reflected  for  a  moment, 
then  said  to  himself,  "No,  it's  all  right;  this  is  the  long 
session,  and  my  friends  will  be  in  Washington." 

He  immediately  wrote  two  letters  to  his  Congressional 
friends,  stating  that  he  had  good  reasons  for  having  the 
appointment  of  Obadiah  Strout  as  postmaster  at  Mason's 
Corner,  Mass.,  held  up  for  a  week. 

"At  the  end  of  that  time,"  he  wrote,  "I  will  either  with 
draw  my  objections  or  present  them  in  detail,  accompanied 
by  affidavits  in  opposition  to  the  appointment." 

Having  finished  the  letters,  he  went  downstairs  to  the 
kitchen,  and,  as  usual,  found  Hiram  engaged  in  conversa 
tion  with  Mandy. 

"You  are  just  the  man  I  want,"  said  he  to  Hiram;  "I 
would  like  to  have  you  take  these  letters  to  the  Mason's 
Corner  post  office  and  mail  them  at  once.  You  can  tell  Mr. 
Hill  that  the  papers  relating  to  the  store  are  nearly  ready, 
anH  if  he  and  'his  son  will  come  here  this  afternoon  we  will 


280  QUINCY   ADAMS    SAWYER. 

execute  them.  I  would  like  to  have  you  and  Mr.  Pettengill 
on  hand  as  witnesses." 

Hiram  started  off  on  his  mission,  and  Quincy  returned  to 
his  room  and  busied  himself  with  the  preparation  of  the 
documents  for  the  transfer  of  the  grocery  store,  and  the 
making  out  of  the  necessary  notes  to  cover  the  twenty-five 
hundred  dollars  due  for  the  same. 

He  had  not  seen  Alice  at  breakfast,  nor  did  she  appear 
at  the  dinner  table.  He  had  followed  the  rule  since  she 
came  to  the  house  not  to  make  any  open  inquiries  about  her 
heailth,  but  from  words  dropped  by  Ezekiel  and  Uncle  Ike, 
he  had  kept  fairly  well  informed  as  to  the  result  of  her 
treatment.  At  dinner  Ezekiel  remarked  that  his  sister 
had  commenced  to  take  her  new  medicine,  and  that  he 
reckoned  it  must  be  purty  powerful,  for  she  had  said  that 
she  didn't  wish  anything  to  eat,  and  didn't  want  anything 
sent  to  her  room. 

Quincy  politely  expressed  his  regrets  at  iher  indisposition 
and  trusted  that  she  would  soon  be  able  to  join  them  again 
at  meal  time. 

About  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  Samuel  Hill  and 
his  father  arrived,  and  Hiram,  remembering  Quincy's  in 
structions,  had  found  Ezekiel  Pettengill,  and  all  came  to  tihe 
room  together.  It  took  a  comparatively  short  time  to 
sign,  seal,  and  deliver  the  documents  and  papers.  It  was 
arranged  that  Samuel  Hill  and  his  father  should  take 
charge  of  the  grocery  store  and  carry  on  the  business  until 
a  week  from,  the  following  Monday;  as  Quincy  told  young 
Hill  that  he  had  some  business  to  attend  to  the  early  part 
of  the  following  week  that  would  prevent  his  giving  any 
attention  to  the  store  until  the  latter  part  of  the  week. 

Quincy  treated1  his  principals  and  witnesses  to  cigars,  and 
an  interchange  of  ideas  was  made  in  relation  to  the  result 
of  the  auction  sale. 

''How  does  Strout  take  it?"  inquired  Quincy. 

"I  don't  know,"  spoke  up  Hiram.     "He  acts  as  though 


THE   TOWN  MEETING.  281 

he  thought  I  was  pizen.  Every  time  he  sees  me  he  crosses 
over  on  t'other  side  of  the  street,  if  we  happen  to  be  oomin' 
towards  each  other." 

"Well,  I  imagine,"  said  Quincy,  "that  your  usefulness 
to  him  has  departed  in  some  respects,  but  it's  just  as  well." 

"Well,"  said  young  Hill,  "I  can  tell  you  what  he  said 
the  other  night  in  the  grocery  store.  There  was  a  crowd 
of  his  friends  there,  and  he  remarked  that  you,"  turning  to 
Quincy,  "might  own  Hill's  grocery  store,  but  that  wasn't 
the  whole  earth.  He  said  that  he  had  no  doubt  that  he 
would  be  elected  unanimously  as  tax  collector,  and  he  was 
sure  of  his  appointment  as  postmaster,  and  if  he  got  it  he 
should  start  another  grocery  store  on  his  own  hook  and 
make  it  lively  for  you." 

"Well,"  said  Quincy  with  a  laugh,  "competition  is  the 
life  of  trade,  and  I  sha'n't  object  if  he  does  go  into  the  bus 
iness;  but  if  he  does,  I  will  guarantee  to  undersell  him  on 
every  article,  and  I  will  put  on  a  couple  of  teams  and  hire 
a  couple  of  men,  and  we'll  scour  Eastborough  and  Mason's 
Corner  and  'Montrose  for  orders  in  the  morning,  and  then 
we'll  deliver  all  the  goods  by  team  in  the  afternoon  in 
regular  Boston  style.  I  never  knew  just  exactly  what  I 
was  cut  out  for.  I  know  I  don't  like  studying  law,  and  it 
may  be,  after  all,  that  it's  my  destiny  to  become  a  grocery- 
man." 

Quincy  took  Ezekiel  by  the  arm,  led  him  to  the  window, 
and  whispered  something  to  him. 

Ezekiel  laughed,  then  turned  red  in  the  face,  then  finally 
said  in  an  undertone,  "Waal,  I  dunno,  seems  kinder  early, 
but  I  dunno  but  it  jest  as  we'll  might  be  then  as  any  other 
time.  I  hain't  got  nuthin'  ter  do  this  afternoon,  so  I  think 
I'll  take  a  walk  up  there  to  see  how  the  land  lays." 

Be  said,  "Good  afternoon"  to  the  others  and  left  the 
room. 

Quincy  then  took  Samuel  Hill  by  the  arm  in  the  same 
manner  as  he  had  done  to  Ezekiel,  led  him  to  the  window, 


282  QUINCY  ADAMS    SAWYER. 

and  said  something  to  him  which  wrought  a  similar  effect 
to  that  produced  upon  Ezekiel. 

Samuel  thought  for  a  moment  and  then  said,  "That  ain't 
a  bad  idea;  I'm  satisfied  if  the  other  party  is.  I'm  going 
to  drive  over  this  afternoon  .and  tell  the  old  gentleman  that 
matters  are  all  fixed  up,  and  I'll  find  out  if  there's  any  ob- 
jjection  to  the  plan.  Guess  I'll  go  now,  as  I've  got  to  git 
back  to-night." 

So  he  said  "Good  afternoon,"  and,  accompanied  by  his 
father,  took  his  departure. 

"Sit  down,  Hiram/'  said  Quincy,  "I  want  to  have  a  talk 
with  you.  Have  you  settled  up  that  little  matter  with 
Mandy?" 

"No,"  said  Hiram,  "not  yet;  I've  ben  tryin'  to  muster 
up  courage,  but  I  haven't  ben  able  to  up  to  the  present 
moment." 

"I  should  think,"  remarked  Quancy,  "that  a  man  who 
had  carried  his  captain  off  the  field  with  a  shower  of  bullets 
raining  about  him,  or  who  had  pushed  forward  with  his 
country's  flag  in  the  face  of  a  similar  storm  of  bullets, 
ought  not  to  be  afraid  to  ask  a  young  girl  to  marry  him." 

"Waal,  do  yer  know,"  said  Hiram,  "I'm  'more  afraid  o* 
Mandy  than  I  would  be  of  the  whole  army." 

"Well,"  said  Quincy,  "I  don't  see  ony  other  way  for  you 
except  to  walk  up  like  a  man  and  meet  your  fate.  Of  course 
if  I  could  do  it  for  you  I'd  be  willing  to>  oblige  you." 

"No,  thank  yer,"  said  Hiram,  "I  kinder  reckon  thet  little 
matter  had  better  be  settled  between  the  two  principals  in 
the  case  without  caillm'  in  a  lawyer." 

Quinoy  leaned  over  and  whispered1  something-  to  him. 

"By  crickey!"  said  Hiram,  "what  put  thet  idea  inter  yer 
head?" 

"Oh/'  said  Quincy,  "since  I've  had  to  spend  so  much 
time  plotting  against  my  enemies,  I've  got  into  the  habit  of 
thinking  out  little  surprises  for  my  friends." 

"Waal,  I  swan!"  cried  Hiram,  "that  would  be  the  biggest 


THE  TOWN  MEETING.  283 

thing  ever  happened  in  Mason's  Comer.  Well,  I  rather 
think  I  shall  be  able  to  tend  to  that  matter  now,  at  once. 
One,  two,  three,"  said  Hiram,  "just  think  of  it;  well,  that's 
the  biggest  lark  that  I've  -ever  ben  connected  with;  beasts 
buying  the  grocery  store  all  holler." 

"Well,"  continued  Quincy,  "you  three  gentlemen  under, 
stand  it  now,  and  if  matters  can  be  arranged  I  will  do 
my  part,  and  I  promise  you  all  a  grand  send-off;  but  not  a 
word  of  it  must  be  breathed  to  outside  parties,  remember. 
It  won't  amount  to  anything  unless  its'  a  big  surprise." 

"All  right,"  said  Hiram,  "I  kinder  reckon  Sawyer's  sur 
prise  party  will  be  a  bigger  one  than  Strout's  was." 

"Oh,"  continued  Hiram,  "I  'most  forgot.  Mandy  was 
up  ter  see  her  mother  abeout  thet  room  for  thet  man  that's 
comin'  down  from  Boston  Monday  night,  and  Mis'  Haw 
kins  says  the  price  of  the  room  is  three  dollars  per  week 
and  the  board  fifty  cents  a  day.  Mandy  paid  for  the  room 
far  a  week,  and  Mis'  Hawkins  says  after  she  takes  out  what 
the  board  comes  to  she'll  give  the  balance  back  ter  M'andy." 

"That's  all  right,"  said  Quincy,  "I've  heard  from  the 
man  in  Boston,  and  he'll  surely  occupy  the  room  next 
Monday  night.  Mandy  can  tell  her  mother  to  have  it  all 
ready." 

Next  morning  about  ten  o'clock,  Abbott  Smith  drove 
over  from  Eastborough  Centre,  accompanied  by  his  father 
and  Wallace  Stackpole.  Quincy  took  his  place  beside  Mr. 
Stackpole  on  the  rear  seat  of  the  carryall,  and  Abbott  drove 
off  as  though  he  intended  to  return  to  Eastborough  Centre, 
but  when  he  reached  the  crossroad  he  went  through,  then 
turning  back  towards  Mason's  Corner,  drove  on  until  he 
readied  Deacon  Mason's  barn,  following  the  same  plan  that 
Ezekiel  had  on  the  night  of  the  surprise  party. 

They  found  the  Deacon  at  home,  and  all  adjourned  to 
tfhe  parlor,  where  'Bias  Smith  stated  his  business,  which 
was  to  ask  the  Deacon  to  act  as  Moderator  at  the  town 
meeting  on  the  following  Monday.  The  Deacon  objected 


884  QUESTCY  ADAMS   SAWYER. 

at  first,  but  finally  consented,  after  Mr.  Smith  had  explained 
several  matters  to  him. 

"Yer  know,"  said  the  Deacon,  "my  fellow  citizens  have 
tried  on  several  occasions  to  have  me  run  for  selectman, 
but  I  reckoned  thet  I  wuz  too  old  to  be  out  so  late  nights 
and  have  to  drive  home  from  Ea;stborough  at  ten  or  'leven 
o'clock  at  night.  Besides  I've  worked  hard  in  my  day, 
and  there's  no  place  I  like  so  well  as  my  own  home.  I'm 
alwus  sorry  to  go  away  in  the  mornin'  and  -alwuis  glad  ter 
git  home  at  night,  and  although  I  consider  that  every  citi 
zen  ought  ter  do  everything  he  can  for  the  public  good,  I 
reckon  thet  there's  a  good  many  more  anxious  than  I  am 
to  serve  the  town,  and  I'm  not  so  consated  but  thet  I  think 
they  know  how  ter  do  it  better'n  I  could.  But  as  that 
Moderator  work  comes  in  the  daytime,  as  I  stand  ready  to 
do  all  I  can  for  my  young  friend  here,"  turning  towards 
Quincy,  "I'll  be  on  hand  Monday  mornin'  and  do  the  best 
I  can  to  serve  public  and  private  interests  at  the  same 
time." 

Wallace  Stackpole,  while  the  others  were  talking,  had 
taken  a  couple  of  newspapers  from  his  pocket,  and  as  Dea 
con  Mason  finished,  .he  looked  up  and  said,  "There's  an 
item  here  in  the  'Eastborough  Express,'  Deacon,  that  I 
imagine  you'll  be  interested  in.  I'll  read  it  to  you :  'We  are 
informed  on  the  best  authority  that  Miss  Huldy  Mason, 
only  daughter  of  Deacon  Abraham  Mason  of  Mason's  Cor 
ner,  is  engaged  to  Mr.  Ezekiel  Pettengill.  The  day  of  the 
marriage  has  not  been  fixed,  but  our  readers  will  be  in 
formed  in  due  season.' '' 

"I'm  afraid,  Deacon,"  said  Quincy,  "that's  all  my  fault. 
I  met  young  Chishoim  last  Tuesday  when  I  was  over  to  the 
Centre,  and  he  told  me  something  that  actually  obliged  me 
to  confide  in  him  the  fact  that  I  knew  that  your  daughter 
was  not  likely  to  become  Mrs.  Obadiah  Strout,  but  he 
promised  me  on  his  word  of  honor  that  he  would  not  put  it 


THE    TOWN  MEETING.  286 

in  the  paper  unless  he  got  the  same  information  from  some 
other  source." 

The  Deacon  haw-hawed  in  good  old-fashioned  country 
style. 

"Waal,"  said  he,  "young  Chishohn  tackled  me,  and  said 
he  heard  a  rumor  abeout  Huldy  and  Strout,  and,  as  you  say, 
Mr.  Sawyer,  he  kinder  'bliged  me  to  set  'him  right.  But 
he  made  me  a  promise,  as  he  did  you,  thet  he  wouldn't  say 
anythin'  abeout  it  unless  some  other  feller  toid  him  the 
same  thing." 

"That  young  man  is  sure  to  get  ahead  in  the  world ;  he 
buncoed  us  both,  Deacon/'  said  Quincy. 

"Waal,  I  dunno  as  I  know  just  what  you  mean  by  bun 
coed,"  said  the  Deacon,  "but  I  kinder  think  he  got  the  best 
of  both  on  us  on  thet  point." 

As  they  took  their  places  again  in  the  carryall,  Quincy 
said  to  Mr.  Smith,  "If  you  can  drive  to  Mr.  Pettengill's 
house  and  wait  a  few  minutes,  I  think  I'll  go  over  to  East- 
borough  Centre  with  you.  I'm  going  to  Boston  this  after 
noon,  and  shall  not  be  back  again  until  Monday  night." 

This  they  consented  to  do,  and  after  Quincy  had  obtained 
certain  papers  and  had  packed  his  travelling  bag,  be  left 
word  with  Mandy  that  he  would  not  be  back  to  the  house 
until  Tuesday  of  tihe  following  week,  and  it  might  be 
Wednesday,  as  he  was  going  to  Boston  to  see  his  parents. 

When  they  reached  Eastborough  Centre,  Quincy  went  at 
once  to  the  post  office;  there  he  found  a  short  letter  from 
Leopold  Ernst.  It  read  as  follows: 

"Dear  Q:— 

"Come  up  and  see  me  as  soon  as  you  can;  I  shall  be  at 
home  all  day  Sunday.  Am  ready  to  report  on  the  stories, 
but  have  more  to  say  than  I  have  time  to  write. 

Invariably  thine, 

LEOPOLD  ERNST." 


286  QUINCY  ADAMS  SAWYER. 

Quincy  then  crossed  the  Square  and  entered  the  office  oi 
the  "Eastborough  Express."  Sylvester  flushed  a  little  as 
Quincy  came  in,  but  the  latter  reassured  him  by  extending 
his  hand  and  shaking  it  heartily. 

"Is  the  editor  in?''  asked  Qudncy. 

!     "No,"  replied  Sylvester,  "he  never  shows  up  on  Satur 
days." 

"Who  is  going  to  report  the  town  meeting?"  continued 
Quincy. 

"I  am,"  answered  Sylvester.  "The  editor  w;.li  be  on 
hand,  but  he  told  'me  yesterday  that  he  should  depend  on 
me  to  write  the  meeting  up,  because  he  had  a  little  political 
work  to  attend  to  that  would  take  all  his  time.  He  told 
me  he  was  going  over  to  see  'Bias  Smith  on  Sunday,  so  I 
imagine  that  Mr.  Smith  arid  he  are  interested  on  the  same 
side." 

''Well,  Mr.  Chisholm,"  said  Quincy,  "you  managed  that 
little  matter  about  Miss  Mason's  engagement  so  neatly  that 
I  have  something  for  you  to  do  for  me.  I'm  going  to  Bos 
ton  this  afternoon,  and  shall  not  be  back  until  half-past 
seven  Monday  night.  I'm  going  over  to  see  Mr.  Parsons 
when  I  leave  here,  and  shall  arrange  with  him  to  supply  all 
our  boys  with  all  they  want  to  eat  and  drink  next  Monday." 

"Well,  the  boys,  as  you  call  them,  will  be  pretty  apt  to 
be  hungry  and  thirsty  next  Monday,"  laughed  Sylvester. 

"That's  all  right,"  said  Quincy,  "1*11  stand  the  bills." 

"How's  Parsons  going  to  know  which  are  our  boys?" 
continued  Chisholm.  "They  ought  to  have  some  kind  of 
badge  or  some  kind  of  a  password,  or  your  enemies,  as  well 
as  your  friends,  will  be  eating  up  your  provisions.'' 

"That's  what  I  want  you  to  attend  to,"  added  Quincy. 
"I'll  arrange  with  Parsons  that  if  anybody  gives  him  the 
letters  B  D  on  the  quiet,  he  is  to  consider  that  they  are  on 
our  side,  and  mustn't  take  any  money  from  them,  but  chalk 
it  up  on  my  score.  Now,  I  depend  upon  you,  Mr.  Chis- 


THE  TOWN  MEETING.  287 

holm,  to  give  the  password  to  the  faithful,  and  to  pay  you 
for  your  time  and  trouble  just  taike  this.'' 

And  he  passed  a  twenty-dollar  bill  to  Sylvester.  The 
latter  drew  back. 

''No,  Mr.  Sawyer,'*  said  he,  "I  cannot  take  any  money  for 
that  service.  This  work  is  to  be  done,  for  I  understand 
the  whole  business,  to  defeat  the  man  who,  I  think,  has 
treated  my  sister  in  a  very  mean  manner,  and  I'm  willing 
to  work  all  day  and  all  night  without  any  pay  to  knock 
that  fellow  out.  Let's  put  it  that  way, — I'm  working  against 
him,  and  not  for  you ;  and,  looking  at  it  that  way,  of  course, 
there's  no  reason  why  you  should  pay  me  anything." 

"All  right,''  rejoined  Quincy,  "I  should  have  no  feeling' 
if  you  took  the  money,  but  I  can  appreciate  your  senti 
ments,  and  will  have  no  feeling  because  you  do  not  take 
it.  One  of  these  days  I  may  be  able  to  do  as  great  a  ser 
vice  for  you,  as  you  are  wilding  to  do  for  me  between  now 
and  next  Monday." 

They  shook  hands  and  parted,  and  Quincy  made  his  way 
to  the  Eagle  Hotel,  of  which  Mr.  Seth  Parsons  was  the 
proprietor.  Mr.  Parsons  greeted  him  heartily  and  invited 
him  into  his  private  room.  Here  Quincy  told  the  arrange 
ment  that  he  had  made  with  young  Chisholm,  and  gave 
him  the  password. 

"Don't  stint  them,"  said  Quincy,  "let  them  have  a  good 
time ;  but  don't  let  anybody  know  who  pays  for  it.  I  shall 
be  down  on  the  half-past  seven  express,  Monday  night,  and 
I  would  like  to  have  a  nice  little  dinner  for  eight  or  nine 
people  ready  in  your  private  diniing-room  at  eight  o'clock.1' 
Mr.  Tobias  Smith  knows  who  my  guests  are  to  be,  and  if  I 
am  delayed  from  any  cause,  he  will  tell  you  who  are  entitled 
to  go  in  and  eat  the  dinner." 

^The  next  train  to  Boston  was  due  in  ten  minutes,  and 
sfiaking  hands  wath  the  hotel  proprietor,  he  made  his  way 
quickly  to  the  station.  As  he  reached  the  platform  he  no- 
tice'd  that  Abner  Stiles  was  just  driving  away;  the  thought 


288  QTJINCY  ADAMS   SAWYER. 

flashed  through  his  mind  that  somebody  from  Mason's  Cor« 
ner  was  going  to  the  city ;  but  that  was  no  uncommon  event, 
and  the  thought  passed  from  him. 

He  entered  the  car,  and,  to  his  surprise,  found  that  it 
was  filled;  every  seat  in  sight  was  taken.  He  walked  for 
ward  and  espied  a  seat  near  the  farther  end  of  the  car.  He 
noticed  that  a  lady  sat  near  the  window;  when  he  reached 
it  he  raised  his  hat,  and  leaning  forward,  said  politely,  "Is 
this  seat  taken?" 

"No,  sir,"  replied  a  pleasant,  but  somewhat  sad  voice, 
and  he  sank  into  the  seat  without  further  thought  as  to  its 
other  occupant. 

When  they  reached  the  first  station  beyond  Eastborough 
Centre  he  glanced  out  of  the  window,  a/nd  as  he  did  so, 
noticed  that  his  companion  was  Miss  Lindy  Putnam. 

"Why,  Miss  Putnam,"  cried  he,  turning  towards  her, 
"how  could  I  be  so  ungallant  as  not  to  recognize  you?" 

"Well,"  replied  Lindy,  "perhaps  it's  just  as  well  that  you 
didn't;  my  thoughts  were  not  very  pleasant,  and  I  should 
not  have  been  a  very  entertaining  companion." 

"More  trouble  at  home?"  he  inquired  in  a  low  voice. 

"Yes,"  answered  Lindy,  in  a  choked  voice,  "since  Mr. 
Putnam  died  it  'has  been  worse  than  ever.  While  he  lived 
she  had  him  to  talk  to ;  but  now  she  insists  on  talking  to  me, 
and  sends  for  me  several  times  a  day,  ostensibly  to  do  some 
thing  for  her,  but  really  simply  to  get  me  in  the  room  so 
she  can  talk  over  the  old,  old  story,  and  say  spiteful  and 
hateful  things  to  me.  May  Heaven  pardon  me  for  saying 
so,  Mr.  Sawyer,  but  I  am  thankful  that  it's  nearly  at  an 
end." 

"Why,  what  do  you  mean,"  asked  Quincy,"is  she  worse?" 

"Yes,"  said  Lindy,  "she  is  failing  very  rapidly  physically, 
but  her  voice  and  mental  powers  are  as  strong  as  ever;  in 
feict,  I  think  she  is  more  acute  in  her  mind  and  sharper  in 
her  words  than  she  has  ever  been  before.  Dr.  Budd  ordered 
some  medicine  that  I  could  not  get  at  the  Centre,  and  sc 


THE  TOWN  MEETING.  28$ 

there  was  no  way  for  me  except  to  go  to  the  city  for  it 
Let  me  tell  you  now,  Mr.  Sawyer,  something  that  I  should 
have  been  obliged  to  write  to  you,  if  I  had  not  seen  you. 
I  shall  stay  with  Mrs.  Putnam  until  she  dies,  for  I  prom 
ised  Jones  that  I  would,  and  I  could  never  break  any  prom 
ise  that  I  made  to  him;  but  the  very  moment  that  she's  dead 
I  shall  leave  the  house  and  the  town  forever !" 

"Shall  you  not  stay  <to  the  funeral?5'  said  Quincy;  "what 
will  the  townspeople  say?" 

"I  don't  care  what  they  say,"  rejoined  Lindy,  in  a  sharp 
tone;  "she  is  not  my  mother,  and  I  will  not  stay  to  the 
funeral  and  hypocritically  mourn  over  her,  when  in  my 
secret  heart  I  shall  be  glad  she  is  dead." 

"Those  are  harsh  words,"  said  Quincy. 

"Not  one-tenth  nor  one-hundredth  as  harsh  and  unfeeling 
as  those  she  has  used  to  me,"  said  Lindy.  "No,  my  mind 
is  made  up;  my  trunks  are  all  packed,  and  she  will  not  be 
able  to  lock  me  in  my  room  this  time.  I  shall  leave  town 
'by  the  first  train  after  her  death,  and  Eastborough  will 
never  see  me  nor  hear  from  me  again." 

"But  how  about  your  friends,"  asked  Quincy,  "suppos 
ing  that  I  should  find  out  something  that  would  be  of  in» 
terest  to  you ;  supposing  that  I  should  get  some  information 
that  might  lead  to  the  discovery  of  your  real  parents,  how 
could  I  find  you?" 

"Well,"  replied  Lindy,  "if  you  will  give  me  your  promise 
that  you  will  not  disclose  to  any  one  wfhat  I  am  going  to 
say,  I  will  tell  you  how  to  find  me." 

"You  have  my  word,"  replied  Quincy. 

"Well,"  answered  Lindy,  "I'm  going  to  New  York!  I 
would  tell  you  where,  but  I  don't  know.  But  if  you  wish 
to  find  me  at  any  time  advertise  in  the  Personal  Column  of 
the  'New  York  Herald';  address  it  to  Linda,  and  sign  it 
Eastborough,"  said  she,  after  a  moment's  thought.  "I  shall 
drop  the  name  of  Putnam  when  I  arrive  in  New  York,  but 
what  name  I  shall  take  I  have  not  yet  decided  upon ;  it  will 


290  QUINCY   ADAMS   SAWYER. 

depend  upon  circumstances.  But  I  shall  have  the  'New 
York  Herald'  every  day,  and  if  you  advertise  for  me  I 
shall  be  sure  to  see  it." 

She  then  relapsed  into  silence,  and  Quincy  forbore  to 
speak  any  more,  as  he  saw  she  was  busy  with  her  own 
thoughts.  They  soon  reached  the  city  and  parted  at  the 
'>door  of  the  station.  She  gave  him  her  hand,  and  as  he  held 
it  in  his  for  a  moment,  he  said,  "Good-by,  Miss  Linda." 
She  thanked  him  for  not  saying  "Miss  Putnam"  with  a 
glance  of  her  eyes.  "I  may  not  see  you  again,  but  you  may 
depend  upon  me.  If  I  hear  of  anything  that  will  help  you 
in  your  search  for  your  parents,  my  time  shall  be  given  to 
the  matter,  and  I  will  communicate  with  you  at  the  earliest 
moment.  Good-by." 

He  raised  his  hat  and  they  parted. 

Town  Meeting  Day  proved  to  be  a  bright  and  pleasant 
one.  At  nine  o'clock  the  Town  Hall  was  filled  with  the 
citizens  of  Eastborough.  They  had  come  from  the  Centre, 
they  had  come  from  West  Eastborough  and  from  Mason's 
Corner.  There  were  very  nearly  four  hundred  gathered 
upon  the  floor,  the  majority  of  them  being  horny-handed 
sons  of  toil,  or,  more  properly  speaking,  independent  New 
England  farmers. 

When  Jeremiah  Spinney,  the  oldest  man  in  town,  who 
had  reached  the  age  of  ninety-two,  and  who  declared  that 
he  hadn't  "missed  a  town  meetin'  for  seventy  year,"  called 
the  meetir-o-to  order,  a  hush  fell  upon  the  assemblage.  In 
a  cracked,  but  still  distinct  voice,  he  called  for  a  nomination 
for_Moderator  of  the  meeting.  Abraham  Mason's  name, 
of  Mason's  Corner,  was  the  only  one  presented.  The  choice 
was  bv  acclamation;  for  it  was  acknowledged  on  all  sides 
that  Deacon  Mason  was  as  square  a  man  as  there  was  in 
town. 

The  newlv-elected  Moderator  took  the  chair  and  called 
upon  the  clerk  to  read  the  warrant  for  the  meeting.  This 
was  soon  done,  and  the  transaction  of  the  town's  business 


THE    TOWN  MEETING.  S£* 

in  earnest.  It  will  be,  of  course,  impossible  atva  un 
necessary  to  give  a  complete  and  connected  account  of  all 
that  took  place  in  town  meeting  on  that  day.  For  such  an 
account  the  reader  is  referred  to  the  columns  of  the  "East- 
borough  Express,"  for  it  was  afterwards  acknowledged  on 
all  sides  that  the  account  of  the  meeting  written  by  Mr. 
Sylvester  Chisholm  was  the  most  graphic  and  comprehen 
sive  that  \had  ever  appeared  in  that  paper.  We  have  to  do 
omly  with  those  items  in  the  warrant  that  related  directly 
or  indirectly  to  those  residents  of  the  town  with  whom  we 
are  interested. 

When  the  question  of  appropriating  a  certain  sum  for 
the  'Support  of  the  town  Almshouse  was  reached,  Obadiah 
Strout  sprang  to  his  feet  and  called  out,  "Mister  Modera 
tor,"  in  a  loud  voice.  He  was  recognized,  and  addressed 
t/he  chair  as  follows: 

"Mister  Moderator,  before  a  vote  is  taken  on  the  ques 
tions  of  appropriatin'  for  the  support  of  the  town  poor,  I 
wish  to  call  the  attention  of  my  fellow-citizens  to  a  matter 
that  has  come  to  my  knowledge  durin'  the  past  year.  A 
short  time  ago  a  man  who  had  been  a  town  charge  for  more 
than  three  years,  and  whose  funeral  expenses  were  paid  by 
the  town,  was  discovered  by  me  to  be  the  only  brother  of 
a  man  livin'  in  Boston,  who  is  said  to  be  worth  a  million 
dollars.  A  very  strange  circumstance  was  that  the  son  of 
this  wealthy  man,  and  a  nephew  of  this  town  pauper,  has 
been  livin'  in  this  town  for  several  months,  and  spendin? 
his  money  in  every  way  that  he  could  think  of  to  attract 
attention,  but  it  never  occurred  to  him  that  he  could  have 
used  his  money  to  better  advantage  if  he  had  taken  some  of 
it  and  paid  it  to  the  town  for  takin'  care  of  his  uncle. 
These  facts  are  well  known  to  many  of  us  here,  and  I  move 
that  a  ballot — " 

Tobias  Smith  had  been  fidgeting  uneasily  in  his  seat 
while  Strout  was  speaking,  and  when  he  mentioned  the 
word  "ballot,"  he  could  restrain  himself  no  longer, 


292  QUINCY  ADAMS  SAWYER. 

jumped  to  !his  feet  and  called  out  in  his  stentorian  voice, 
"Mister  Moderator,  I  rise  to  a  question  of  privilege." 

"I  have  the  floor,"  shouted  Strout,  "and  I  wash  to  finish 
my  remarks.  This  is  only  an  attempt  of  the  opposition  to 
shut  me  off.  I  demand  to  be  heard!" 

"Mister  Moderator,"  screamed  Abner  Stiles,  "I  move 
that  Mr.  Strout  be  allowed  to  continue  without  further 
interruption." 

The  Moderator  brought  his  gavel  down  >on  the  table  and 
called  out,  "Order,  order."  Then  turning  to  Tobias,  he 
said,  "Mr.  Smith,  state  your  question  of  privilege." 

Strout  sank  into  his  seat,  his  face  livid  with  passion; 
turning  to  Stiles,  he  said,  "This  is  all  cooked  up  between 
'em.  You  know  you  told  me  you  saw  Smith  and  Stack- 
pole  and  that  city  chap  drivin'  away  from  the  Deacon's 
house  last  Saturday  morninV 

Stiles  nodded  his  head  and  said,  "I  gues-s  you're  right. 

Mr.  Smith  continued,  "My  question  of  privilege,  Mister 
Moderator,  is  this :  I  desire  to  present  it  now,  because  when 
I've  stated  it,  my  fellow  citizen,"  turning  to  Strout,  "will 
find  that  it's  unnecessary  to  make  any  motion  in  relation 
to  the  matter  to  which  he  has  referred.  I  hold  in  my  hand 
a  letter  from  Mr.  Quincy  Adams  Sawyer,  whose  father  is 
the  Hon.  Nathaniel  Sawyer  of  Boston,  and  whose  uncle  was 
Mr.  James  Sawyer,  who  died  in  the  Eastborough  Poor- 
house  several  weeks  ago.  By  conference  with  Mr.  Waters, 
who  is  in  charge  of  the  Poorhouse,  and  with  the  Toivn 
Treasurer,  he  ascertained  that  the  total  expense  to  which 
the  town  of  Eastborough  has  been  put  for  the  care  of  his 
uncle  was  four  hundred  and  sixty-eight  dollars  and 
seventy-two  cents.  I  hold  his  check  for  that  sum,  drawn  to 
the  order  of  the  Town  Treasurer,  and  certified  to  be  good 
by  the  cashier  of  the  Eastborough  National  Bank.  He  has 
requested  me  to  offer  this  check  to  the  town,  and  that  a 
receipt  for  the  same  be  given  by  the  Town  Treasurer." 

Strout  jumped  to  his  feet. 


THE  TOWN    MEETING.  393 

"Mister  Moderator,  I  am  glad  to  learn,'*  cried  he,  "that 
this  son  of  a  millionaire  has  had  his  iheart  touched  and  his 
conscience  pricked  by  the  kindness  shown  by  the  town  of 
Eastborough  to  his  uncle,  and  I  move  the  check  be  accepted 
and  a  receipt  given  by  the  Town  Treasurer,  as  requested." 

"Second  the  motion !"  called  out  Abner  Stiles. 

"Before  puttin'  the  question,''  'said  the  Moderator  slowly, 
"I  want  to  say  a  few  -words  on  this  matter,  and  as  it  may  be 
thought  not  just  proper  for  me  to  speak  from  the  chair, 
I  will  call  upon  the  Rev.  Caleb  Hiowe  to  take  the  same  durin' 
my  remarks." 

The  well-known  clergyman  at  Mason's  Corner  came  for 
ward,  ascended  the  platform,  took  the  chair,  and1  recog 
nized  Deacon  Mason's  claim'  to  be  heard. 

"I  have  heerd  the  motion  to  accept  this  check,  an'  I  de 
sire  ter  say  thet  I  am  teetotally  opposed  to  the  town's  takin' 
this  money.  If  the  Honorable  Nathaniel  Sawyer,  who's  the 
dead  man's  brother,  or  Mr.  Quincy  Adams  Sawyer,  who's 
his  nephew,  had  known  that  he  wuz  a  pauper,  they  would 
'er  relieved  the  town  of  any  further  charge.  We  hev  no 
legal  claim  agin  either  of  these  two  gentlemen.  Our  claim 
is  agin  ther  town  of  Amesbury,  in  which  Mr.  James  Sawyer 
was  a  citizen  and  a  taxpayer.  If  Mr.  Quincy  Adams  Saw 
yer  wishes  to  pay  ther  town  of  Amesbury  after  ther  town 
of  Amesbury  has  paid  us,  thet's  his  affair  and  none  o>  our 
business,  but  we've  no  legal  right  to  accept  a  dollar  from 
him,  when  our  legal  claim  is  agin  the  town  in  which  he  hed 
a  settlement,  and  I  hope  this  motion  will  not  prevail." 

As  Deacon  Mason  regained  the  platform  loud  cries  of 
"Vote  i  Vote !  Vote !"  came  from  all  parts  of  the  hall. 

Tellers  were  appointed,  and  in  a  few  .moments  the  result 
of  the  vote  was  announced.  In  favor  of  Mr.  Strout's  mo 
tion  to  accept  the  check,  eighty-five.  Opposed,  two  hundred 
and  eighty.  And  it  was  not  a  vote. 

"We  will  now  proceed,"  said  the  Moderator,  as  he  re- 


894  QUINCT    ADAMS    SAWYER. 

sumed  the  chair,  "to  'consider  the  question  of  appropriating 
money  k>r  the  support  of  the  Poor-farm." 

The  next  matter  on  the  warrant  of  general  interest  was 
the  appropriation  of  a  small  sum  of  money  to  purchase 
some  reference  books  for  the  town  library,  which  consisted 
of  but  a  few  hundred  volumes  stowed  away  in  a  badly- 
lighted  and  poorly-ventilated  room  on  the  upper  floor  of 
the  Town  Hall. 

This  question  brought  to  his  feet  Zachariah  Butterfield, 
who  was  looked  upon  as  the  watchdog  of  the  town  treasury. 
He  had  not  supported  Strout  on  the  question  of  accepting 
the  dheck,  because  he  knew  the  position  taken  by  the  Mod 
erator  was  legally  correct,  and  he  was  very  careful  in  oppos 
ing  appropriations  to  attack  only  those  where,  as  it  seemed 
to  him,  he  'had  a  good  show  of  carrying  his  point.  He  had 
been  successful  so  often,  that  with  him  success  was  a  duty, 
for  he  had  a  reputation  to  maintain. 

"Mister  Moderator,"  he  said,  "I'm  agin  appropriatin'  any 
more  money  for  this  'ere  town  lib'ry.  We  hev  got  plenty 
of  schoolbooks  in  our  schools;  we  hev  got  plenty  of  books 
and  newspapers  in  our  houses,  and  it's  my  opinion  thet  those 
people  who  spend  their  time  crawlin'  up  three  flights  er 
stairs  and  readin'  those  books  had  better  be  tillin'  ther  soil, 
poundin'  on  ther  anvil,  or  catchin  fish.  Neow,  I  wuz  talkin* 
with  Miss  Burpee,  the  li'brari'n,  and  she  sez  they  want  a 
new  Wooster's  Dictshuneery,  'cause  ther  old  one  iz  all  worn 
eout.  Neow,  I  looked  through  the  old  one,  and  I  couldn't 
see  but  what  it's  jest  as  good  as  ever;  there  may  be  a  few 
pages  missin',  but  what's  thet  amount  ter  when  there's 
more'n  a  couple  of  thousan'  on  'em  left?'' 

Mr.  Tobias  Smith  was  again  fidgeting  in  his  seat.  He 
evidently  had  something  to  say  and  was  anxious  to  say  it. 

Mr.  Butterfield  continued:  "Neow,  to  settle  this  question 
onct  fer  all,  I  make  ther  motion  that  this  'ere  lib'ry  be 
closed  up  and  the  librari'n  discharged;  she  gits  a  dollar  a 


THE  TOWN   MEETING.  39* 

week,  and  ther  town  ken  use  that  fifty-two  dollars  a  year, 
in  my  opinion,  to  better  advantege." 

"Mister  Mbd'erstor,"  came  again  from  Mr.  Tobias  Smith, 
"I  rise  to  a  question  of  privilege — 

Mr.  Butterfield  kept  on  talking:  "Mister  Moderator,  this 
is  not  a  question  of  privilege;  this  is  a  question  of  expendi 
ture  of  money  for  a  needless  purpose.  Yes,  Mister  Mod 
erator,  for  a  needless  purpose." 

Mr.  Butterfield  'had  evidently  lost  the  thread  of  his  dis 
course,  and  Mr.  Smith,  taking  advantage  of  his  temporary 
indecision,  said,  "I  agree  with  the  gentleman  who  has  just 
spoken;  I  am  in  favor  of  closing  up  this  musty,  dusty  old 
room,  and  saving  the  further  expenditure  of  money  upon 
it." 

Mr.  Butterfield,  hearing  these  words,  and  not  having  suf 
ficiently  collected  his  thoughts  to  say  anything  himself, 
nodded  approvingly  and  sank  into  his  seat. 

'Mr.  Smith  continued,  "I  have  a  proposition  to  submit  in 
relation  to  the  town  library.  I  hold  in  my  hand  a  letter 
from  Mr.  Quincy  Adams  Sawyer,  whose  name  has  been 
previously  (mentioned — " 

Mr.  Strout  jumped  to  ihis  feet. 

"Mister  Moderator,  I  rise  to  a  question  of  privilege/' 

"I  second  the  motion!"  cried  Abner  Stiles. 

"State  your  question  of  privilege,  Mr,  Strout,"  said  the 
Moderator. 

"I  wish  to  inquire,"  answered  Strout,  "if  the  time  of 
this  town  meetin'  is  to  be  devoted  to  the  legitimate  business 
of  the  town,  or  is  it  to  be  fooled  away  in  hearin'  letters  read 
from  a  person  who  is  not  a  citizen  of  the  town,  and  who  is 
not  entitled  to  be  heard  in  this  town  meetin-  ?" 

"Mister  Moderator,"  said  Mr.  Smith,  "I  am  a  citizen  of 
this  town,  and  I'm  entitled  to  be  heard  in  this  meeting,  and 
the  matter  that  I'm  about  to  bring  to  the  attention  of  this 
meeting  is  a  most  important  one  and  affects  the  interests  of 
the  town  materially.  I  consider  that  I  have  a  right  to  read 


296  QUINCY  ADAMS  SAWYER. 

this  letter  or  any  other  letter  that  relates  to  the  question 
before  the  meeting,  which  is,  'Shall  money  be  appropriated 
to  buy  books  for  -what  is  called  the  town  library?'  I  say 
NO ;  and  my  reason  for  this  is  contained  in  this  letter,  which 
I  propose  to  read." 

"Go  on,  Mr.  Smith,"  said  the  Moderator. 

"Well,"  continued  :Mt.  /Smith,  "Mr.  Qumcy  Adams 
Sawyer,  in  this  letter,  offers  to  the  town  of  Eastborough 
the  sum  of  five  thousand  dollars,  to  be  used  either  for  pur 
chasing  books  and  paying  the  expenses  of  a  library  to  be 
located  in  the  Town  Hall;  or  a  portion  of  the  money  may 
be  used  to  build  a  suitable  building,  and  the  balance  for  the 
equipment  and  support  of  the  library." 

Mr.  Butter-field  was  on  his  feet  again, 

"Mister  Moderator,  I'm  agin  aoceptin'  this  donation.  If 
we  take  it,  we  shall  only  jump  out  er  the  fryin-pan  inter 
the  fire;  instead  of  buyin'  a  few  books  and  payin'  the  li- 
brari'n  a  dollar  -a  week,  we  shall  hev  to  hev  a  jan'ter  for 
the  new  buildin',  and  pay  fer  insurance,  and  we  shell  hev 
ter  hev  a  librari'n  ev'ry  day  in  ther  week,  and  by'm  by  the 
ungodly  will  want  ter  :hev  it  open  on  a  Sunday,  so  thet  they 
kin  'hev  a  place  to  loaf  in ;  and  I'm  agin  the  whole  bizness 
teetotally.  I've  sed  my  say;  neow,  you  kin  go  ahead,  and 
do  jest  as  you  please." 

This  was  'Mr.  Butterfield's  usual  -wind-up  to  his  argu 
ments;  but  on  this  occasion  it  seemed  to  fail  of  its  effect. 

The  Moderator  said,  "Was  Mr.  Biutterfield's  motion  sec 
onded?"  There  was  no  response.  "Then  the  matter  be 
fore  the  meeting  is  the  question  of  appropriating  money 
for  the  support  of  the  town  library." 

"Mister  Moderator,"  said  Mr.  Smith,  "I  move  that  the 
donation  from  Mr.  Ouincy  Adams  Sawyer  be  accepted,  and 
that  the  library  be  named  'The  Sawyer  Free  Public  Library 
of  the  Town  of  Eastborough.' '' 

"Second  the  motion!"  came  from  a  hundred  voices. 

Strout  was  on  his  feet  again. 


THE  TOWN  MEETING.  297 

"Mister  Moderator,"  said  he,  "I  move  to  amend  the  mo 
tion  by  havin'  it  read  that  we  decline,  that  the  town  declines 
the  donation  without  thanks." 

A  loud  laugh  arose  from  the  assemblage. 

Abner  Stiles  had  evidently  misinterpreted  Mr.  Strout's 
motion,  for  he  called  out,  "Mister  Moderator,"  and  when  he 
got  the  floor,  "I  move  to  amend  so  that  the  motion  would 
read,  this  library  shall  be  called  the  Strout  Free  Library 
of  the  Town  of  Eastboroug'h." 

This  was  greeted  with  shouts  of  laughter,  and  Strout 
grasped  Abner  by  his  coat  collar  and  pulled  him  violently 
back  upon  the  settee. 

"Shut  up,  you  fool,''  cried  he  between  his  teeth  to  Abner; 
"do  you  want  to  make  a  laughin'  stock  of  me?" 

"I  kinder  thought  I  wuz  a-helpin'  yer,"  said  Abner,  as 
he  ran  his  fingers  down  under  his  chin  and  pulled  away  this 
shirt  collar,  which  had  been  drawn  back  so  forcibly  that  it 
interfered  with  his  breathing. 

"The  question  now/'  said  the  Moderator,  "is  on  the  adop 
tion  of  Mr.  Smith's  motion.  Those  in  favor  will  please  stand 
up  and  be  counted." 

When  the  tellers  had  attended  to  their  duty  the  Modera 
tor  said,  "Those  opposed  will  now  rise  and  be  counted." 

The  vote  was  soon  announced.  In  favor  of  accepting 
the  donation,  three  hundred  and  one ;  opposed,  fifty-eight. 

"It's  a  vote,"  declared  the  Moderator. 

A  dozen  matters  of  minor  importance  were  quickly  dis 
posed  of,  and  but  one  remained  upon  the  warrant,  with  the 
exception  of  the  election  of  town  officers.  Lirtle  squads 
of  the  members  were  now  gathered  together  talking  over 
the  most  important  question  of  the  meeting,  which  was  the 
election  of  town  officers  for  the  ensuing  year.  The  last 
item  on  the  warrant  read:  "Will  the  town  appropriate 
money  to  buy  .a  new  hearse?" 

Mr.  Butterfield  had  evidently  been  holding  himself  hi 


298  QDIITOT  ADAMS  SAWYEK. 

reserve,  for  he  was  on  his  feet  in  an  instant,  and  he  secured 
the  eye  of  the  Moderator  and  -the  floor. 

"Mister  Moderator,"  began  Mr.  Butterfield,  "I  desire  to 
raise  my  voice  agin  this  biznez  of  unnecessary  and  unex 
ampled  extravagance.  What  do  we  want  of  a  new  hearse? 
, Those  who  are  dead  and  in  the  cemetery  don't  find  any 
fault  with  the  one  we've  got,  and  those  who  are  livin'  have 
no  present  use  for  it,  and  why  should  they  complain?  I 
know  what  this  means.  This  is  only  an  enterin'  wedge. 
If  this  'ere  bill  passes  and  we  git  a  new  hearse,  then  it'll  be 
said  thet  ther  horses  don't  look  as  well  as  the  hearse,  and 
then  if  ther  hearse  gits  out  in  ther  storm,  we  shell  hev  ter 
pay  money  to  git  it  polished  up  agin,  and  we  who  are  livin' 
will  hev  to  work  harder  and  harder  for  the  benefit  of  those 
who  are  jest  as  well  satisfied  with  the  old  hearse  as  they 
would  be  with  a  new  one.  I  move,  Mister  Moderator,  that 
instid  of  buyin'  a  new  hearse,  thet  ther  old  one  be  length 
ened  six  inches,  which  ken  be  done  at  a  slight  expense." 

Mr.  Tobias  Smith  now  took  the  floor. 

"I  am  glad  that  my  friend  has  not  opposed  this  measure 
entirely,  but  has  provided  for  my  proper  exit  from  this 
world  when  my  time  comes.  I  must  confess  that  it  has 
troubled  me  a  great  deal  when  I  have  thought  about  that 
hearse.  I  was  born  down  in  the  State  of  Maine,  where  the 
boys  and  the  trees  grow  up  together.  I  stand  six  feet  two 
in  my  stockings  and  six  feet  three  with  my  boots  on,  and 
I  haven't  looked  forward  with  any  pleasure  to  being-  car 
ried  to  my  last  resting  place  in  a  hearse  that  was  only  six 
feet  long.  I  second  Mr.  Butterfield's  motion,  but  move 
to  amend  it  by  extending  the  length  to  seven  feet." 

The  vote  was  taken,  and  Mr.  Butterfi eld's  motion  was 
carried  by  a  vote  of  three  hundred  and  forty  to  twenty-two. 
Mr.  Butterfield  sank  back  in  his  seat  with  an  expression  on 
his  face  that  seemed  to  say,  "I've  done  the  town  some  ser 
vice  to-day." 

The  Moderator  then  rose  axui  said,  "Fellow-citizens,  all 


THE  TOWN  MEETING.  299 

the  business  matters  upon  the  warrant  have  now  been  dis 
posed  of.  We  will  now  proceed  to  the  election  of  town 
officers  for  the  ensuing"  year." 

Mr.  Stackpole  rose  and  called  out,  "Mister  Moderator, 
it  is  now  nearly  twelve  o'clock,  and  some  of  us  had  to  leave 
home  quite  early  this  morning  in  order  to  be  in  time  at  the 
meeting.  I  move  that  we  adjourn  'till  one  o'clock,  at  which 
time  balloting  for  town  officers  usually  commences." 

Forty  voices  cried  out,  "Second  the  motion/'  and  al 
though  Strout,  Stiles,  and  several  others  jumped  to  their 
feet  and  endeavored  to  secure  the  Moderator's  eye,  the  mo 
tion  was  adopted  by  an  overwhelming  vote,  and'  the  greater 
portion  of  the  members  .made  their  way  out  of  the  hall  and 
directed  their  steps  towards  the  Eagle  Hotel,  ac  if  the 
whole  matter  had  been  prearranged.  Here,  Mr.  Parsons, 
the  proprietor,  had  set  out  a  most  tempting  lunch  in  the 
large  dining-room,  and  those  who  were  able  to  give  the 
password  were  admitted  to  the  room,  and  feasted  to  their 
heart's  content. 

Abner  Stiles,  impelled  by  curiosity,  had  followed  the 
party,  and  had  noticed  that  each  one  said  something  to  the 
proprietor  before  he  was  admitted  to  the  dining-room. 
Going  up  to  Parsons,  he  said,  "What's  goin'  on  in  there?" 

"Oh,  I  guess  they're  having  a  caucus,"  replied  Mr.  Par 
sons. 

"When  thet  last  feller  went  in,"  said  Abner,  "I  saw  that 
the  table  was  all  set,  'and  I  kinder  'magined  they  must  be 
liavin'  a  dinner.  I'd  kinder  like  some  myself." 

"Well,  I'm  sorry,"  said  Mr.  Parsons,  "but  I  cannot  ac 
commodate  any  more  than  have  already  applied.  You  can 
get  a  lunch  over  to  the  railroad  station,  you  know,  if  you 
want  one.'* 

"I  know,"  answered  Abner,  '"but  I  kinder  'magine 
they're  talkin'  over  'lection  matters  in  there,  and  I'd  rafchei- 
like  ter  know  what's  goin'  on." 


300  QUItfCY    ADAMS    SAWYER. 

"Well,  I  .guess  you'll  find  out  when  they  get  back  to  the 
Town  Hall/'  remarked  Mr.  Parsons;  and  he  stepped  for 
ward  to  greet  three  or  four  other  citizens,  who  leaned  over 
and  whispered  in  his  ear. 

(Mr.  Parsons  smiled  and  nodded,  and  opening1  the  door 
admitted  them  to  the  dining-room. 

"Well,  that  beats  all,"  said  Abner,  as  he  went  out  on  the 
platform  in  front  of  the  hotel.  "They  jest  whispered  some- 
thin'  to  him  and  he  let  'em,  rigiht  in.  I  kinder  think  some- 
thin's  goin'  on  and  thet  Strout  ain't  up  to  it.  Guess  I'll  go 
back  and  tell  him,"  which  he  proceeded  to  do. 

He  found  Strout  and  some  sixty  or  seventy  of  the  citizens 
stiill  remaining  in  the  Town  Hall,  the  majority  of  whom 
were  eating  the  luncheons  tihat  they  had  brought  with  them 
from  home.  Taking-  Strout  aside,  Abner  confided  to  him 
the  intelligence  of  which  he  had  become  possessed.. 

"  'D'yer  know  what  it  means?''  asked  Abner. 

"No,  I  don't,"  said  Strout,  "but  I  bet  'a  dollar  that  it's 
some  of  that  city  chap's  doin's.  Is  he  'round  about  town 
this  mornin'?" 

"No,"  said  Abner,  "he  went  to  Bosting  on  the  same  train 
with  'Miss  Lindy  Putnam,  for  I  fetched  her  down,  and  I 
saw  'him  git  inter  the  same  car  with  her  as  I  wuz  drivin' 
off." 

One  o'clock  soon  arrived,  and  the  large  party  that  had 
regaled  themselves  with  the  appetizing  viands  and  non 
alcoholic  beverages  supplied  by  mine  host  of  the  Eagle 
Hotel  came  back  to  the  Town  Hall  in  the  best  of  spirits. 
The  majority  of  them  were  smoking  good  cigars,  which 
had  been  handed  to  them  by  the  proprietor,  as  they  passed 
from  the  dining-room. 

When  asked  if  there  was  anything1  to  pay,  Mr.  Parsons 
shook  his  head  and  remarked  sententiously,  "This  is  not  the 
only  present  that  the  town  has  received  to-day ,"  which  was 
a  delicate  way  of  insinuating  the  name  of  the  donor  of  the 
feast  without  actually  mentioning  it. 


THE    TOWN  MEETING.  80J 

The  election  of  a  dozen  minor  officers  calls  for  no  special 
attention,  except  to  record  the  fact  that  Abner  Stiles,  wfoo 
had  cautiously  taken  a  position  several  settees  removed 
from  Strout,  arose  as  the  nominations  were  made  for  each 
office,  and  in  every  case  nominated  Mr.  Obadiah  Strout  for 
the  position,  and  it  is  needless  to  add  that  Mr.  Obadiah 
Strout  had  at  least  one  vote  for  each  office  in  the  gift  of 
the  town. 

The  nomination  of  a  collector  of  taxes  for  the  town  was 
finally  reached.  Abner  Stiles  was  first  on  his  feet,  and 
being  recognized  -by  the  Moderator,  nominated  "Mr,  Oba 
diah  Strout,  who  had  performed  the  duties  of  the  office  so 
efficiently  during  the  past  year." 

Now  the  battle  royal  began.  Mr.  Tobias  Smith  next 
•obtained  the  floor  andi  nominated  Mr.  Wallace  Stackpole. 

"In  presenting  this  nomination,  Mister  Moderator,  I  do 
it  out  of  justice  to  an  old  -soldier  who  served  the  country 
faithfully,  and  who  lost  the  •election  a  year  ago  on  account 
of  an  untrue  statement  that  was  widely  circulated  and 
wihi'ch  could  not  be  refuted  in  time  to  affect  the  question  of 
his  election.  I  .hold  in  my  hand  three  documents.  The 
first  one  is  a  certified  copy  of  the  war  record  of  Wallace 
Stackpole,  who  entered  one  of  our  regiments  of  Volunteers 
as  a  private,  served  throughout  the  war,  and  was  honorably 
discharged  with  the  rank  of  captain.  This  record  shows 
that  during  'his  four  years  of  -service  he  was  three  times 
wounded;  in  one  instance  so  badly  that  for  weeks  his  life 
hung  by  a  thread,  and  it  was  only  'by  the  most  careful  treat 
ment  that  amputation  of  his  right  arm  was  avoided.  I 
hold  here  also  the  war  record  of  the  present  incumbent  of 
the  office.  From  it  I  learn  that  he  entered  the  army  as  a 
private  and  was  discharged  at  the  end  of  two  years  still 
holding  the  rank  of  private,  and  sent  home  as  an  invalici. 
He  is  not  to  blame  for  this,  but  inspecting  his  record  I  find 
that  within  a  month  after  he  joined  the  army  he  was  de 
tailed  for  service  in  the  hospital,  and  during  the  two  years 


302  QUINCY   ADAMS  SAWYER. 

of  his  connection  with  the  army  lie  was  never  engaged  in  a 
single  battle,  not  even  in  a  skirmish." 

Cries  rose  from  certain  parts  of  the  hall  in  opposition  to 
the  speaker,  and  Deacon  Mason  remarked  that  while  it  was 
perfectly  proper  to  compare  the  war  records  of  the  two 
candidates  for  the  position,  it  -must  be  borne  in  mind  that 
because  a  man  was  a  soldier,  or,  rather,  because  he  did  a 
little  more  fighting  than  the  other  one,  was  no  reason  that 
he  would  make  a  better  tax  collector. 

The  Moderator's  remarks  were  'greeted  with  applause, 
and  Strout's  face  brightened. 

"I  am  glad  to  see  the  Deacon's  .bound  to  have  fair  play," 
said  he  to  an  old  farmer  who  sat  next  to  him. 

"Waal,  I  guess  you're  more  liable  to  git  it  than  you  are 
disposed  to  give  it,"  drawled  the  old  farmer,  who  evidently 
was  not  an  adherent  of  the  present  incumbent  of  the  office. 

iMr.  Tobias  Smith  continued  his  remarks: 

"I  acknowledge  the  correctness  of  the  remarks  just  made 
iby  our  honored  Moderator,  and  desire  to  say  that  I  hold 
in  my  hand  a  third  document,  whidh  is  a  statement  of  the 
taxes  due  and  collected  during  the  past  twenty  years  by  the 
different  persons  who  have  held  the  office  of  tax  collector. 
I  find  during  nineteen  years  of  that  time  that  the  lowest 
percentage  of  taxes  left  unpaid  at  the  end  of  the  year  was 
five  per  cent;  the  highest  percentage  during  these  nineteen 
years,  and  that  occurred  during  the  war,  was  fourteen  per 
cent;  but  I  find  that  during  the  past  year  only  seventy- 
eight  per  cent  of  the  taxes  due  have  been  collected,  leaving 
twenty-two  per  cent  still  due  the  town,  and  the  non-receipt 
of  this  money  will  seriously  hamper  the  selectmen  during 
the  coming  year,  unless  we  choose  a  man  who  can  give  his 
entire  time  to  the  business  and  collect  the  money  that  is 
due.  This  statement  is  'certified  to  by  the  town  treasurer, 
and  I  do  not  suppose  that  the  present  incumbent  will  pre 
sume  to  question  its  accuracy." 

Strout  evidently  thought  that  a  further  discussion  of  the 


THE   TOWN    MEETING.  SOS 

matter  might  work  to  his  still  greater  disadvantage,  for  he 
leaned  over  and  spoke  to  one  of  his  adherents,  who  rose 
and  said: 

"Mister  Moderator,  this  discussion  has  "taken  a  personal 
nature,  in  which  I  am  not  disposed  to  indulge.  I  don't 
think  that  anything  will  be  gained  by  such  accusations  and 
comparisons.  It  strikes  me  that  the  last  speaker  is  trying 
to  give  tit  for  tat  because  his  candidate  lost  at  the  last 
election;  but  I  am  one  of  those  who  believe  that  crimina 
tions  and  recriminations  avail  nothing,  and  I  move  that  w>e 
proceed  to  vote  at  once." 

"Second  the  motion!"  screamed  Abner  Stiles  from  the 
settee  on  which  he  had  assumed  a  standing  posture. 

The  vote  was  taken.  Those  in  favor  of  Obadiah  Strout 
being  called  upon  to  stand  up  first,  they  numbered  exactly 
one  hundred  and  one.  Then  those  in  favor  of  Wallace 
Stackpole  were  called  upon  to  rise,  and  they  numbered 
two  hundred  and  eighty-four;  several  citizens  having  put  in 
an  appearance  at  one  o'clock  who  had  not  attended  the 
morning  session. 

The  next  matter  was  the  election  of  the  Board  of  Select 
men;  and  the  old  board  was  elected  by  acclamation  with 
out  a  division.  The  meeting  then  adjourned  without  day. 

The  five  minutes  past  six  train,  express  from  Boston,  ar 
rived  on  time,  and  at  twenty  minutes  of  eight,  Mr.  Quincy 
Adams  Sawyer  entered  the  private  dining-room  in  the 
Eagle  Hotel.  There  he  found  gathered  Mr.  Tobias  Smith, 
JVIr.  Wallace  Stackpole,  Mr.  Ezekiel  Pettengill,  Mr.  Sylves- 
Ster  Chisholm,  and  the  Board  of  Selectmen,  making  the 
party  of  eight  which  Quincy  had  mentioned.  It  was  eleven 
o'clock  before  the  dinner  party  broke  up,  and  during  that 
time  Quincy  had  heard  from  one  or  another  of  the  party  a 
full  account  of  the  doings  at  the  town  meeting. 

It  is  needless  to  say  that  he  was  satisfied  with  the  results, 
but  he  said  nothing1  to  indicate  that  fact  in  the  presence  of 
the  Board  of  Selectmen.  They  were  the  first  to  leave,  and 


804  QUINCY    ADAMS  SAWYER. 

then  there  was  an  opportunity  for  mutual  congratulations 
by  the  remaining  members  of  the  party.  To  these  four 
should  be  added  Mr.  Parsons,  the  proprietor,  upon  whose 
face  rested  a  broad  smile  when  lie  presented  his  bill  for  the 
day's  expense's,  and  the  sum  was  paid  by  Quincy. 

"We  liad  a  very  pleasant  time,"  remarked  Mr.  Parsons  to 
Mr.  Sawyer  as  he  bade  him  good  evening. 

"I  am  delighted  to  hear  it,"  said  Quincy,  "and  I  regret 
very  much  that  my  busine&s  in  the  city  prevented  my  being 
here  to  enjoy  it." 

On  the  way  home  with  Ezekiel  they  went  over  the  events 
of  the  day  again  together,  and  Ezekiel  told  him  many  little 
points,  that  for  obvious  'reasons  had  been  omitted  at  the 
dinner  party. 

Quincy  was  driven  directly  to  Mrs.  Hawkins's  boarding 
huose,  for  he  had  explained  his  programme  to  Ezekiel.  He 
turrred  tip  his  coat  collar  and  pulled  his  hat  down  over  his 
eyes,  as  he  was  admitted;  and,  although  Mrs.  Hawkins's 
eyes  were  naturally  sharp,  she  did  not  recognize  the  late 
comer,  who  proceeded  upstairs  to  his  room,  which  Mrs. 
Hawkins  informed  him  was  right  opposite  the  head  of  the 
stairs,  and  there  was  a  light  burning  in  the  room  and  a  good 
warm  fire,  and  if  he  needed  anything,  if  'he  would  just  call 
to  her  inside  of  <the  next  ten  minutes,  she  would  get  it  for 
him. 

Quincy  said  nothing,  but  went  into  his  room  and  shut  the 
door,  and  there  we  will  leave  him. 

As  Strout  and  Abner  drove  back  to  Mason's  Corner,  after 
the  adjournment  of  the  town  meeting,  nothing  was  said  for] 
the  first  mile  of  the  trip. 

Then  Abner  turned  to  him  and  remarked,  "You  ought 
ter  be  well  satisfied  with  to-day's  perceedin's.'' 

"How  do  you  make  that  out?"  growled  Strout. 

"Waal,  I  think  the  events  proved,"  said  Abner,  "that 
you  wuz  the  most  pop'lar  man  in  ther  town." 

"How  do  you  make  that  out?"  again  growled  Strout. 


THE  TOWN  MEETING.  305 

"Why,"  said  Abner,  "you  wuz  nominated  for  every  office 
in  the  gift  o'  Cher  town,  and  that's  more'n  any  other  feller 
could  say." 

"If  you  don't  shut  up,"  saM  Strout,  "I'll  nominate  you 
for  town  idytrt,  and  there  won't  be  any  use  of  any  one  run- 
nin'  agin  yer!'' 

Abner  took  his  reproof  meekly.  He  always  did  when 
Strout  spoke  to  him.  No  more  was  said  until  they  reached 
home.  Strout  entered  the  boarding  house  and  went  up 
stairs  to  his  room,  forgetting  that  there  was  a  man  from 
Boston,  to  arrive  late  that  evening,  who  was  to  have  the 
next  room  to  his. 

Abner  put  up  the  (horse  and  went  home.  As  he  went  by 
Strout's  door,  thoughts  of  the  rum  and  molasses,  and  the 
good  cigar  that  he  'had  enjoyed  the  night  of  the  surprise 
party  one  week  ago  went  through  his  mind,  and  he  stopped 
before  Strout's  door  and  listened  attentively,  but  there  was 
no  -sound,  and  he  went  upstairs  disconsolately,  and  went  to 
bed  feeling  that  his  confidence  in  the  Professor  had  been 
somewhat  -diminisihed  by  the  events  of  the  day. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 
MRS.  HAWKINS'  BOARDING  HOUSE. 

MRS.  HAWKINS  waited  patiently  until  eight  o'clock 
for  the  gentleman  from  Boston  to  come  down  to 
breakfast.  She  then  waited  impatiently  from  eight  o'clock 
till  nine.  During  that  time  she  put  the  breakfast  on  the 
stove  to  keep  it  warm,  and  also  made  several  trips  to  the 
front  entry,  where  she  listened  to  see  if  she  could  hear  any 
signs  of  movement  on  the  part  of  'her  new  boarder. 

When  nine  o'clock  arrived  s>he  could  restrain  her  impa 
tience  no  longer,  and,  going  upstairs,  she  gave  a  sharp 
knock  on  the  door  of  Quincy's  room. 

"What  is  it?"  answered  a  voice,  somewhat  sharply. 

"It's  nine  o'clock,  and  your  breakfast's  most  dried  up," 
replied  Mrs.  Hawkins. 

"I  don't  wish  for  any  breakfast,"  said  the  voice  within 
the  room,  but  in  a  much  pleasanter  tone.  "What  time  do 
you  have  dinner?" 

"Twelve  o'clock,"  said  Mrs.  Hawkins. 

"All  right,"  answered  the  voice,  cheerfully.  "I'll  take 
my  breakfast  and  dinner  together."  \ 

"That  beats  all,"  said  Mrs.  Hawkins,  as  she  entered  the 
kitchen. 

"What  beats  all?''  asked  Betsy  Green,  who  worked  for 
Mrs.  Hawkins. 

"It  beats  all,"  repeated  Mrs.  Hawkins,  "how  these  city 
folks  can  sit  up  till  twelve  o'clock  at  night,  and  then  go  with 
out  their  breakfast  till  noontime.  I've  fixed  up  somethin' 
oretty  nice  for  him,  and  I  don't  propose  to  see  it  wasted." 


MKS.  HAWKINS'   BOARDING  HOUSE.  80? 

"What  are  you  goin'  to  do  with  it?"  asked  Betsy. 
"  'Twon't  keep  till  to-morrer  mornin'." 

"I'm  gain'  to  eat  it  myself,"  said  Mrs.  Hawkins.  And 
suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  she  transferred  the  appetiz 
ing  breakfast  to  the  kitchen  table,  and,  taking  a  seat,  began 
to  devour  it. 

"Have  you  seen  your  sister,  Samanthy,  lately?''  she 
asked. 

"I  was  up  there  Sunday  evening,"  replied  Betsy,  "and 
she  said  Mis'  Putnam  was  failin'  very  fast.  She  keeps  her 
bed  all  the  time  now,  and  Samanthy  has  to  run  up  and 
down  stairs  'bout  forty  times  a  day.  She  won't  let  Miss 
Lindy  do  a  thing  for  her." 

"Well,  if  I  was  Lindy,"  said  Mrs.  Hawkins,  "I  wouldn't 
do  anything  for  her  if  she  wanted  me  to.  She  used  to  abuse 
that  ohild  shamefully.  Is  Miss  Lindy  goin'  to  keep  house 
arter  her  mother  dies?" 

"No,"  said  Betsy,  "she's  got  'her  things  all  packed  up, 
and  she  told  Samanthy  she  should  leave  town  for  well  and 
good  as  soon  as  her  mother  was  buried." 

"I  don't  blame  her,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Hawkins. 
"Where's  Samanthy  goin'?" 

"Oih,  she  says  she  wants  to  rest  awhile  afore  she  goes 
anywheres  else  to  live.  She's  all  run  down." 

"P'r'aps  she'll  go  and  stay  with  yer  mother  for  a  while.** 

"No,"  said  Betsy,  "she  won't  go  there." 

"Ain't  yer  mother  'n'  her  on  good  terms?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  replied  Betsy,  "but  the  four  boys  send  mother 
five  dollars  a  month  apiece,  and  us  girls  give  her  two  dol 
lars  a  month  apiece,  and  it's  understood  that  none  of  us  is 
to  go  and  loaf  'round  at  home,  'less  we  pay  our  board." 

"That's  all  right,"  said  Mrs.  Hawkins.  "You  can  tefl 
Samanthy  for  me  that  she  can  come  here  and  stay  a  couple 
o'  weeks  with  you.  Your  bed's  big  enough  for  two,  and  I 
won't  charge  her  no  board  if  she's  willin'  to  wait  on  table 


308  QUINCT  ADAMS   SAWYER. 

at  dinner  time.  You'll  get  the  benefit  of  it,  ye  know, 
Betsy,  for  you  kin  get  the  dinner  dishes  done  so  much  ear 
lier." 

"That's  very  kind  of  you,  Mrs.  Hawkins,"  said  Betsy, 
and  the  conversation  lapsed  for  a  moment  till  she  in 
quired,  "Will  your  daughter  Mandy  stay  with  Mr.  Petten- 
gill  arter  he  marries  Huldy  Mason?" 

"I  don't  know,"  replied  Mrs.  Hawkins.  "Mandy  says 
that  Hiram  Maxwell  is  the  'biggest  fool  of  a  man  she  ever 
saw." 

"Then  she  must  think  a  good  deal  of  him,"  laughed 
Betsy. 

"Wall,  I  fancy  she  does,"  replied  Mrs.  Hawkins;  "and 
I've  no  objections  to  him,  seein'  as  that  Mr.  Sawyer  is  goin' 
to  put  him  inter  the  grocery  store  and  back  him  up.  But 
Mandy  says  that  he  won't  come  to  the  pi'nt.  He  hints  and 
hints  and  wobbles  all  'round  the  question,  but  he  don't  ask 
her  to  marry  him  right  out  and  out.  Mandy  says  she  won't 
gin  in  until  he  does,  for  if  she  does,  she  says  he'll  be 
chuckin'  it  at  her  one  of  these  days  that  he  didn't  ask  her 
to  marry  him  and  be  sayin'  as  how  she  threw  herself  at 
him,  but  there's  too  much  of  the  old  Job  Skinner  spirit  in 
Mandy  for  her  to  do  anythin'  like  that." 

At  this  moment  Mrs.  Hawkins  looked  up  and  saw  Hiram 
Maxwell  standing  in  the  half-open  doorway  that  led  into 
the  wood-shed. 

"List'ners  never  hear  any  good  of  themselves,"  remarked 
Mrs.  Hawkins,  as  Hiram  advanced  into  the  room. 

"I  didn't  hear  nothin',"  said  Hiram.  "I've  got  too 
many  things  in  my  head  to  tell  yer  to  mind  any  women's 
talk,"  he  continued. 

"What  is  it?"  cried  Mrs.  Hawkins  and  Betsy  simul 
taneously. 

"Well,  fust,"  said  Hiram,  "early  this  'mornin'  your  sister 
Sajmanthy,"  here  he  looked  at  Betsy,  "came  tearin'  down 


MKS.  HAWKINS'  BOAKDING  HOUSE.  309 

to  Deacon  Mason's  house  and  said  as  how  Mis'  Hepsey 
Putnam  was  powerful  bad,  and  she  wanted,  me  to  run 
down  to  'Zeke  Pettengill's  and  have  him  bring  his  sister 
right  up  to  the  house,  'cause  Mis'  Putnam  wanted  to  see 
her  afore  she  died,  and  the  Deacon's  wife  said  as  how  I 
could  go  up  with  him  and  (her,  and  so  we  druv  up,  and  a 
little  while  ago  your  sister  Samanthy,"  here  he  looked  at 
Betsy  again,  "asked  me  if  I'd  drive  over  and  ask  Mis' 
Hawkins  if  you,"  here  he  looked  at  Betsy  for  the  third 
time,  "could  come  up  and  stay  with  her  this  arternoon,  for 
she  thinks  Mis'  Putnam  is  goin'  to  -die,  and  she  don't  want 
to  be  left  alone  up  in  that  big  house." 

Betsy  looked  at  Mrs.  Hawkins  inquiringly. 

Mrs.  Hawkins  saw  the  glance  and  said,  "I  can't  spare 
yer  till  &rter  dinner,  Betsy;  say  'bout  one  o'clock.  You 
kin  go  and  stay  till  the  fust  thing  to-morrer  mornin'.  I 
guess  I  kin  manage  supper  alone." 

"Samanthy  will  be  much  obleeged,  Mis'  Hawkins,"  said 
Hiram.  "I'll  drive  right  back  and  tell  her,  and  I'll  drive 
down  agin  about  one  o'clock  arter  Betsy." 

"List'ners  get  a  good  p'int  now  and  then,"  remarked 
Hiram  to  himself.  "Now  I  see  what  made  Mandy  so 
durned  offish.  Wall,  she  won't  have  any  excuse  in  the 
future.  I  guess  I  kin  ask  her  a  straight  question  when  I 
git  good  and  ready,  Mother  Hawkins."  And  he  struck 
the  horse  such  a  violent  -blow  with  the  whip  that  it  required 
all  his  attention  for  the  next  few  minutes  to  bring  him 
down  to  a  trot.  When  he  had  done  so  he  had  reached  his 
destination  and  his  resentful  feelings  had  subsided. 

After  Hiram  had  gone,  Mrs.  Hawkins  and  Betsy  busied 
themselves  getting  dinner.  Happening  to  glance  out  of 
the  window,  the  former  exclaimed,  "Why,  there's  Jonas, 
and  what  on  airth  has  he  got  in  his  hands?5' 

Betsy  ran  to  the  window  and  looked  out. 

"I  guess  it's  a  head  of  lettuce,"  said  she. 


810  QUINCY  ADAMS  SAWYER. 

At  that  moment  the  door  opened  and  Jonas  Hawkins 
entered,  bearing  a  huge  head  of  lettuce  in  his  hand. 

"Wall,  Marthy,"  said  Mr.  Hawkins,  "how  did  the  man 
from  Bosting  like  his  breakfast?  I  kalkilated  them  fresh- 
laid  eggs  would  suit  him  to  a  T." 

"He  ain't  got  up  yet,"  replied  Mrs.  Hawkins. 

"Must  have  been  putty  tired,"  continued  Air.  Hawkins. 
"I  kinder  envy  him.  Do  yer  know,  Marthy,  if  I  wuz  rich 
I  wouldn't  git  up  any  day  till  it  wuz  time  to  go  to  bed 
agin."  And  he  laughed  loudly  at  his  own  remark. 

"What  do  yer  expect  me  to  do  with  that  head  of  let 
tuce?"  asked  Mrs.  Hawkins  with  some  asperity  in  her 
tone. 

"Wall,"  said  Jonas,  "I  was  over  to  Hill's  grocery  and 
he'd  ordered  some  from  Bosting  for  Mis'  Putnam,  but  she's 
too  sick  to  eat  'em,  so  Sam  gave  me  this  one,  'cause  we're 
putty  good  customers,  you  know,  and  I  kalkilated  that  if 
you  made  up  one  of  them  nice  chicken  salads  o'  yourn  it 
might  please  the  new  boarder  and  the  old  ones  too;"  and 
chuckling  to  himself  he  laid  the  lettuce  on  the  kitchen 
table  and  walked  out  into  the  wood-shed.  In  a  few  mo 
ments  he  was  vigorously  at  work  chopping  wood,  whistling 
to  himself  as  he  worked. 

"Mr.  Hawkins  is  an  awful  good-natured  man,  isn't  he?" 
asked  Betsy. 

"Yes,"  replied  Mrs.  Hawkins,  "he's  too  all-fired  good- 
natured  for  his  own  good.  If  I'd  known  him  twenty-five 
years  ago  he'd  have  money  in  the  bank  now.  His  fust 
wife  wuz  slacker'n  dish  water.  But  I  guess  we've  talked 
enough  for  one  mornin',  Betsy.  You  jest  git  that  chicken 
I  boiled  and  bone  it  and  chop  it  up,  and  I'll  -make  the 
dressin'." 

When  twelve  o'clock  sounded  from  the  bell  in  the 
church  tower,  dinner  was  on  the  table  at  Mrs.  Hawkins's 
boarding  house.  By  five  minutes  past  twelve  there  were 


MRS.   HAWKINS'   BOARDING  HOUSE.  311 

fourteen  seated  at  the  table,  with  one  vacant  chair.  Pro 
fessor  Strout  sat  at  the  head  of  the  table.  At  his  left  was 
Abner  Stiles,  while  Robert  Wood  sat  next  to  Stiles.  The 
vacant  seat  was  at  the  Professor's  right  hand,  and  all  eyes 
were  turned  toward  it,  for  all  had  heard  of  the  Boston  man 
who  had  arrived  the  night  before,  but  who,  much  to  their 
disappointment,  had  not  appeared  at  breakfast. 

At  ten  minutes  past  twelve  the  door  leading  into  the 
dining-room  from  the  front  entry  was  opened  quietly,  and 
the  young  man  who  entered,  seeing  the  vacant  chair  near 
the  head  of  the  table,  took  possession  of  it. 

For  a  moment  nobody  looked  up,  each  apparently  wait 
ing  for  some  one  else  to  take  the  initiative. 

Quincy,  for  it  was  he,  broke  the  silence,  and  immediately 
every  face  at  the  table  was  turned  towards  him. 

"How  do  you  do,  Professor?"  said  he.  "Good  afternoon, 
Mr.  Stiles  and  Mr.  Wood.  Ah,  glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Hill," 
he  added,  as  he  espied  Samuel  Hill  at  the  farther  end  of  the 
table. 

The  Professor's  face  grew  crimson,  then  bright  red,  an't 
finally  assumed  a  bluish  tinge.  Abner  sat  transfixed.  The 
others  at  the  table  had  a  charming  diversity  of  expressions 
on  their  faces,  ranging  from  "grave  to  gay,  from  lively  to 
severe."  No  one  at  the  table  enjoyed  the  situation  anv 
more  than  Samuel  Hill,  who  was  very  fond  of  a  joke  and 
who  knew  of  Quincy's  intention  to  meet  his  enemy  at  close 
quarters. 

For  several  minutes  no  one  spoke.  Betsy  flew  from  one 
to  the  other  waiting  upon  table,  but  a  solemn  hush  seemed 
to  have  fallen  upon  the  dinner  party.  Again  Quincy  broke 
the  silence. 

"I  trust,  gentlemen,"  said  he,  "that  you  will  not  let  my 
presence  interfere  with  your  usual  conversation.  I  have 
no  doubt  Mr.  Stiles  can  tell  us  a  good  story,  and  I  am 


B12  QOINCT   ADAMS   SAWYER. 

equally  sure  that  Professor  Strout  has  some  entertaining 
bit  of  village  gossip  that  he  would  like  to  circulate." 

Here  Samuel  Hill  purposely  dropped  liis  fork  upon  the 
floor  and  was  obliged  to  get  under  the  table  to  recover  it, 
Betsy  assisting  him  in  the  search.  When  they  emerged 
from  under  the  table  their  faces  were  red  with  their  exer 
tions. 

As  we  have  seen  on  other  occasions,  the  Professor  was 
very  quick  in  rescuing  himself  from  any  dilemma  into 
which  he  might  be  thrown.  He  saw  an  opportunity  to 
divert  attention  from  himself  and  speedily  improved  it. 

"I  think  I'll  have  to  walk  over  and  see  Miss  Tilly  James 
this  afternoon,"  said  the  Professor. 

At  this  shot  at  Samuel  Hill  and  Betsy  everybody 
laugihed,  including  Quincy,  and  thus  the  ice  was  broken. 

"I've  heard  some  pretty  big  lies  told  in  my  life,"  said 
Robert  Wood,  "but  I  think  Abel  Coffin,  yer  know  him, 
Professor,  old  Jonathan  Coffin's  son,  the  one  that  goes  car- 
penterin',  he  lives  over  in  Montrose,  yer  know,  can  beat 
anybody  we've  got  in  this  town,  not  exceptin'  you,  Stiles;" 
and  he  gave  the  latter  a  nudge  with  his  elbow  that  nearly 
knocked  him  out  of  his  chair. 

"Tell  us  the  story,  Robert,"  said  the  Professor,  who  had 
recovered  his  self-complacency;  "we're  dyin'  to  hear  it." 

"Well,"  continued  Robert  Wood,  "Abel  had  been  shin- 
glin'  a  house,  ancl  I  told  him  there  wuz  a  place  where  he'd 
left  off  a  shingle.  Abel  laughed  and,  scz  he,  'If  I  hadn't 
better  eyesight  than  you've  got  I'd  carry  a  telescope  'round 
with  me.'  'Well,'  sez  I,  thinkin'  I'd  fool  him,  'let's  see 
which  one  of  us  has  got  the  best  eyesight.'  I  pointed  up 
to  the  ridgepole  of  the  house,  which  was  'bout  a  hundred 
feet  off  from  where  we  stood,  and  sez  I  to  Abel,  'Can  you 
see  that  fly  walkin'  along  on  the  ridgepole  near  the  chim 
ney?  I  ken.'  Abel  put  his  hand  up  back  of  his  ear,  an<3 


MRS.  HAWKINS'    BOARDING   HOUSE.  313 

sez  he,  'No,  I  can't  see  him,  but  I  can  hear  him  walkin' 
'round.' " 

As  Robert  concluded,  a  loud  shout  of  laughter  went  up 
from  the  table.  Quincy  had  no  desire  to  be  considered 
"stuck  up,"  so  he  joined  in  the  laugh,  although  he  had 
heard  the  story  in  a  different  form  before. 

So  had  the  Professor,  and  he  never  allowed  an  old  story 
to  be  told  in  his  presence  without  working  in  two  lines  of 
doggerel  which  he  had  composed,  and  of  which  he  was 
very  proud.  So,  turning  to  Robert  Wood  he  said  patron 
izingly,  "That  was  very  well  told,  Robert.  The  story  is 
an  old  one,  but  you  worked  it  up  very  nicely;  but,"  con 
tinued  the  Professor,  "as  I  have  often  remarked  on  similar 
occasions: 

It  makes  no  difference  whether  a  story's  new  or  old, 
Everything  depends  on  the  way  it's  told." 

Turning  quickly  to  Quincy  he  said,  "No  doubt  Mr.  Saw 
yer  can  favor  us  with  a  story  that  we've  never  heard  be 
fore." 

Quincy  was  a  little  taken  aback,  for  the  appeal  was  un 
expected,  but  he  quickly  recovered  his  self-possession  and 
said  in  a  low  but  pleasant  voice,  "I  am  afraid  that  my  story 
will  have  to  depend  on  the  way  it  is  told  rather  than  upon 
its  novelty."  He  wondered  if  his  hearers  were  acquainted 
with  the  travels  of  Baron  Munchausen,  but  decided  to  try 
the  experiment.  "About  a  year  ago,"  resumed  Quincy, 
"I  went  down  to  Mlaine  on  some  law  business.  I  transacted 
it,  but  had  to  travel  some  ten  miles  to  the  county  town  to 
record  my  papers.  I  had  a  four-wheeled  buggy,  and  a 
strong,  heavily-built  horse.  It  began  to  snow  very  fast 
after  I  started,  but  I  knew  the  road  and  drove  steadily  on. 
As  I  approached  the  county  town  I  noticed  that  the  snow 
was  deeper  than  the  highest  building  in  the  town,  in  fact* 


314  QUINCY    ADAMS    SAWYER, 

none  of  the  town  was  visible,  excepting  about  three  feet  of 
the  spire  of  the  tallest  church  in  the  place." 

Quincy  stopped  and  glanced  about  the  table.  Every  eye 
was  fastened  upon  him,  and  all,  including  the  Professor 
and  Stiles  particularly,  were  listening  intently.  Quincy 
continued  his  story: 

"I  was  well  supplied  with  buffalo  robes,  so  after  tying 
m}'  horse  firmly  to  the  weather  vane  on  the  spire,  I  made 
up  a  bed  on  the  snow  with  my  buffalo  robes,  and  slept 
soundly  and  comfortably  all  night.  When  I  woke  in  the 
morning  I  was  still  enveloped  in  the  robes,  but  found  to  my 
surprise  that  I  was  lying  upon  the  ground.  I  looked 
around,  but  there  was  no  sign  of  snow  anywhere.  I  arose 
and  looked  about  for  my  horse  and  buggy,  but  they  were 
not  in  sight.  Then  I  remembered  that  I  had  tied  my  horse 
to  the  weather  vane.  Casting  my  eyes  upward  I  saw  my 
horse  and  buggy  hanging  by  the  strap,  the  horse  having 
secured  a  footing  on  the  side  of  Uhe  spire.  Happily  I  had 
a  revolver  with  me,  and  with  one  shot  I  severed  the  broacl 
leathern  strap.  Naturally  the  horse  and  buggy  fell  to  the 
ground.  I  put  my  buffalo  robes  back  into  the  buggy,  rode 
to  the  court  house,  had  my  papers  recorded,  and  then 
drove  back  ten  miles  to  town,  none  the  worse  for  my  ad 
venture,  but  the  stableman  charged  me  fifty  cents  for  the 
strap  that  I  was  obliged  to  leave  on  the  church  spire." 

A  number  of  low  whistles,  intermixed  with  several 
"whews!"  were  heard,  as  Quincy  finished  his  story. 

"Wall,  by  thunder!"  ejaculated  Stiles,  "how  do  yer  ac 
count  for — " 

"I  think  it  must  have  been  a  sudden  thaw,"  remarked 
Quincy,  with  a  grave  face. 

"One  thing  puzzles  me,"  said  the  Professor. 

"What  is  that?"  asked  Quincy  politely,  "perhaps  I  can 
explain." 

"Before  you  left  the  church,"  asked  the  Professor,  "why 
didn't  you  reach  up  and  ontie  that  strap?" 


MRS.   HAWKINS'  BOARDING  HOUSE.  3U 

Another  loud  shout  of  laughter  broke  from  the  company, 
and  Quincy,  realizing  that  the  Professor  >had  beaten  him 
fairly  by  putting  a  point  on  his  own  story,  joined  heartily  in 
the  laugh  at  his  own  expense. 

"That  reminds  me,"  said  Abner  Stiles,  "of  an  adventure 
that  I  had  several  years  ago,  down  in  Maine,  when  I  wuz 
younger  and  spryer'n  I  am  now." 

"How  old  be  you?"  said  the  Professor. 

"Wall,"  replied  Abner,  "the  family  Bible  makes  me  out 
to  be  fifty-eight,  but  jedgin'  from  the  fun  I've  had  I'm 
as  old  as  Methooserlar." 

This  remark  gave  Stiles  the  preliminary  laugh,  which 
he  always  counted  upon  when  he  told  a  story. 

"Did  yer  ever  meet  a  b'ar?"  asked  he,  directing  his  re 
mark  to  Quincy. 

"Yes,"  said  Quincy,  "I've  stood  up  before  one  many  a 
time." 

"Well,  really,"  exclaimed  Abner,  "how'd  yer  come  off?" 

"Usually  with  considerable  less  money  than  when  I  went 
up,"  replied  Quincy,  seeing  that  Abner  was  mystified. 

"What?"  said  Abner.  "I  mean  a  real  black  b'ar,  one  of 
those  big,  shaggy  fellers  sech  as  you  meet  in  the  woods 
down  in  Maine." 

"Oh,"  said  Quincy,  "I  was  talking  about  an  open  bar, 
such  as  you  find  in  bar-rooms  and  hotels." 

This  time  the  laugh  was  on  Abner,  and  he  was  consider 
ably  nettled  by  it. 

"Go  on,  Abner,  go  on!"  came  from  several  voices,  and 
thus  reassured,  he  continued: 

"Wall,  as  I  wuz  goin'  to  say,  I  was  out  partridge  shoot 
ing  down  in  Maine  several  years  ago,  and  all  I  had  with  me 
was  a  fowlin'  piece  and  a  pouoh  of  bird  shot.  In  fact,  I 
didn't  have  any  shot  left,  for  I'd  killed  'bout  forty  par 
tridges.  I  had  a  piece  of  strong  twine  with  me,  so  I  tied 
their  legs  together  and  slunsr  'em  over  rav  .shoulder.  1 


*16  QUINCT  ADAMS  SATVYER. 

was  jest  goin'  to  start  for  hum  when  I  heerd  the  boughs 
crackin'  behind  me,  and  turnin'  'round  I  saw — Geewhilli- 
kins!— a  big  black  b'ar  not  more'n  ten  feet  from  me.  I 
had  nothin'  to  shoot  him  with,  and  knew  that  the  only  way 
to  save  my  life  wuz  to  run  for  it.  I  jest  bent  over  and 
threw  the  partridges  on  the  ground,  thinkin'  as  I  did  so 
that  perhaps  the  b'ar  would  stop  to  eat  them,  and  I  couid 
git  away.  I  started  to  run,  but  caught  my  toe  in  some 
underbrush  and  went  down  ker-slap.  I  said  all  the  prayers 
I  knew  in  'bout  eight  seconds,  then  got  up,  and  started  to 
run  ag'in.  Like  Lot's  wife,  I  couldn't  help  lookin'  back, 
and  there  wuz  the  b'ar  flat  on  his  back.  I  went  up  to  him 
kinder  cautious,  for  I  didn't  know  but  he  might  be  sham- 
min',  them  black  b'ars  are  mighty  cute;  but,  no,  he  wuz 
deader'n  a  door  nail.  I  took  the  partridges  back  to  town, 
and  then  a  party  on  us  came  back  and  toted  the  b'ar  home." 

Every  one  sat  quietly  for  a  moment,  then  Quincy  asked 
with  a  sober  face,  "What  caused  the  bear's  death;  was  it 
heart  disease?" 

"No,"  said  Abner,  "  'twas  some  sort  of  brain  trouble. 
Yer  see,  when  I  threw  those  partridges  onter  the  ground  it 
brought  a  purty  powerful  strain  onto  my  galluses.  When 
we  cut  the  b'ar  up  we  found  one  of  my  pants  buttons  right 
in  the  centre  of  his  brain." 

Abner's  story  was  greeted  with  those  signs  of  approval 
that  were  so  dear  to  his  heart,  and  Quincy,  realizing  that 
when  you  are  in  Rome  you  must  do  as  the  Romans  do,  wa? 
not  backward  in  his  applause. 

All  eyes  were  now  turned  to  the  Professor. 

"I  don't  think,"  said  he,  "that  I  can  make  up  a  lie  to 
match  with  those  that  have  jist  been  told,  but  if  any  of  you 
are  enough  interested  in  the  truth  to  want  to  li'sten  to  a 
true  story,  I  kin  tell  you  one  that  came  under  my  ofoserva- 
tion  a  few  days  ago." 

All  looked  inquiringly  at  Strout,  but  none  spoke. 


MBS.  HAWKINS'  BOAKDING  HOUSE.  317 

"Wall,"  said  he,  "I  s'pose  I  must  consider  as  how  silence 
means  consent,  and  go  ahead.  Wall"  he  continued,  "you 
all  know,  or  most  all  on  yer  do,  old  Bill  Tompkins,  that 
lives  out  on  the  road  to  Montrose.  This  occurrence  took 
place  early  las'  summer.  Old  Bill  hisself  is  too  close- 
mouthed  to  let  on  about  it,  but  when  I  was  over  there  the 
other  day,  arter  givin'  Lizzy  Tompkins  her  music-lesson,  I 
got  talkin'  with  her  mother,  and  one  thing  led  to  another, 
and  finally  I  got  the  whole  story  outer  her.  Old  Bill  had 
a  cow  that  they  called  'Old  Jinnie.'  She  was  always  mis- 
cheevous,  but  last  year  she'd  been  wusser'n  ever.  She'd 
git  out  of  the  barn  nights,  and  knock  down  fences,  and 
tramp  down  flower  gardens,  and  everybody  said  she  wuz  a 
pesky  noosance.  One  night  old  Bill  and  his  family  wuz 
seated  'round  the  centre  table  in  the  sittin'-room.  There 
wuz  Mary,  'his  wife;  and  George,  his  oldest  boy,  a  young 
fellow  about  eighteen;  Tommy,  who  is  a  ten-year-older, 
and  little  Lizzy,  who  is  about  eight.  George  wuz  readin' 
somethin'  out  of  a  paper  to  'em,  when  they  heerd  a-runnin' 
and  a-jumpin',  and  old  Bill  said,  'That  varmint's  got  out  of 
the  barn  and  is  rampagin*  'round  agin.'  The  winder 
curt'ins  wuz  up,  and  old  Jinnie  must  'a'  seed  the  light,  for 
she  run  pell-mell  agin  the  house,  and  drove  her  horns 
through  the  winder,  smashin'  four  panes.  Old  Bill  and 
George  managed  to  git  her  back  Inter  the  barn  and  tied  her 
tip. 

"As  they  wuz  walking  back  to  the  house,  old  Bill  saidfj 
'Consarn  her  picter,  I'll  make  beef  o'  her  to-morrer  or  myj 
name  ain't  Bill  Tompkins.'  When  they  got  back  to  the 
settin'-room,  George  said,  'How  be  yer  goin*  ter  do  it,  dad?' 
'Why,  cut  her  throat,'  said  Bill.  'You  can't  do  it,'  said 
George,  'the  law  sez  yer  must  shoot  her  fust  in  the  temple.' 
'All  right,'  said  old  Bill,  'you  shoot  and  I'll  carve.'  So  next 
inornin'  they  led  old  Jinnie  out  with  her  head  p'inted 
towards  the  barn.  George  had  loaded  up  the  old  musket, 


318  QUINCY    ADAMS    SAWYER. 

and  stood  "bout  thirty  feet  off.  George  didn't  know  just 
edzactly  where  the  cow's  temple  wuz,  but  he  imagined  it 
must  be  somewhere  atween  her  eyes,  so  he  fired  and  hit 
her  squar'  in  the  forehead.  That  was  enough  for  old  Jinnie, 
she  jist  ducked  her  head,  and  with  a  roar  like  the  bull  of 
fBashan  she  put  for  George.  He  dropped  the  musket  and 
'went  up  the  ladder  inter  the  haymow  livelier'n  he  ever  did 
before,  you  kin  bet.  Old  Jinnie  struck  the  ladder  and 
knocked  it  galley-west.  Old  Jinnie  then  turned  'round  and 
spied  little  Tommy.  He  put,  and  she  put  arter  him.  There 
wasn't  nothin'  else  to  do,  so  Tommy  took  a  high  jump  and 
landed  in  the  pig-sty.  Old  Bill  is  kinder  deef  in  one  ear,  and 
he  didn't  notice  much  what  wuz  goin'  on  on  that  side  of 
him.  He  was  runnin'  the  grindstone  and  puttin'  a  good 
sharp  edge  on  his  butcher  knife,  when  he  happened  to  look 
up  and  seed  old  Jinnie  comin'  head  on.  He  dropped  the 
knife  and  started  for  the  house,  thinkin'  he'd  dodge  in  the 
front  door.  Over  went  the  grindstone  and  old  Jinnie,  too, 
but  she  wuz  up  on  her  feet  ag'in  quicker'n  scat.  She 
seemed  to  scent  the  old  'man,  for  when  she  got  to  the  front 
door  she  turned  in  and  then  bolted  right  into  the  parlor. 
Old  Bill  heerd  her  comin',  and  he  went  head  fust  through 
the  open  winder,  and  landed  in  the  orchard.  He  got  up 
and  run  for  a  big  apple-tree  that  stood  out  near  the  road, 
and  never  stopped  till  he'd  dumb  nearly  to  the  top.  Little 
Lizzie  gave  a  yell  like  a  catamount  and  ran  behind  the 
pianner,  which  was  sot  out  a  little  from  the  wall.  Old  Jin 
nie  went  bunt  inter  the  pianner  and  made  a  sandwich  of 
Lizzie,  who  wuz  behind  it.  Mis'  Tompkins  heard  Lizzie 
scream,  and  come  to  see  what  the  matter  was.  When  she 
see  Jinnie  she  jist  made  strides  for  the  wood-shed,  and  old 
Jinnie  sashayed  arter  her.  Mis'  Tompkins  went  skitin* 
through  the  wood-shed.  There  wuz  a  pair  of  steps  that  led 
up  inter  the  corn  barn,  and  Mis'  Tompkins  got  up  there 
jist  as  old  Jinnie  walked  off  with  the  steps.  Then  old  Jinnie 


MRS.    HAWKINS'    BOARDING    HOUSE.  319 

took  a  walk  outside  and  looked  'round  as  unconsarned  as 
though  nothin'  had  happened.  Jist  about  this  time  one 
of  them  tin  peddlers  come  along  that  druv  one  of  them  red 
carts  with  pots,  and  pans,  and  kittles,  and  brooms,  and 
brushes,  and  mops  hung  all  over  it.  He  spied  old  Bill  up 
in  the  tree,  and  sez  .he,  'What  be  yar  doin',  Farmer  Tomp- 
kins?'  Tickin'  apples/  said  old  Bill.  He  don't  waste 
words  on  nobody.  'Ain't  it  rather  early  for  apples?'  in 
quired  the  peddler.  These  are  some  I  forgot  to  pick  last 
fall/  replied  old  Bill.  'Anythin'  in  my  line?'  said  the  ped 
dler.  'Ain't  got  no  money/  said  Bill.  'Hain't  you  got 
something  you  want  to  trade?'  asked  the  peddler.  'Yes/ 
said  Bill,  'I'll  swap  that  cow  over  yonder;  you  kin  have  her 
for  fifteen  dollars,  an'  I'll  take  it  all  in  trade.'  'Good 
milker?'  said  the  man.  'Fust-class  butter/  said  old  Bill. 
'What  do  you  want  in  trade?'  said  the  man.  'Suit  yerself/ 
said  Bill,  'chuck  it  down  side  of  the  road  there.'  This  was 
soon  done,  and  the  peddler  druv  up  front  of  old  Jinnie  and 
went  to  git  her,  so  as  to  tie  her  behind  his  waggin.  She 
didn't  stop  to  be  led.  Down  went  her  head  agin  and  she 
made  for  the  peddler.  He  got  the  other  side  of  his  team 
jist  as  old  Jinnie  druv  her  horns  'tween  the  spokes  of  the 
forrard  wheel.  Down  come  the  pots,  and  pans,  and  kittles, 
in  ev'ry  direction.  A  clotheshorse  fell  on  the  horse's  back 
and  off  he  started  on  a  dead  run,  and  that  wuz  the  end  of 
poor  Jinnie.  Before  she  could  pull  back  'her  horns,  round 
went  the  wheel  and  broke  her  neck.  The  peddler  pulled  up 
his  horse  and  went  back  to  see  old  Bill,  who  was  climbin* 
down  from  the  apple  'tree.  'W'hat  am  I  goin*  to  do  about 
this?'  said  the  peddler.  'I  wuz  countin'  on  drivin'  her  over 
to  the  next  town  and  sellin'  her  or  tradin'  her  off,  but  I 
hain't  got  no  use  for  fresh  beef.'  'Wall/  said  old  Bill,  'con 
sidering  circumstances  we'll  call  the  trade  off.  You  kin  keep 
your  stuff  and  I'll  keep  my  beef.'  The  peddler  loaded  up 
and  druv  off.  Then  old  Bill  went  in  and  pulled  Lizzie  out 


520  QUINCY  ADAMS  SAWYEK. 

from  behind  the  planner,  and  put  up  the  steps  so  Mrs. 
Tornpkins  could  come  down  from  the  corn  barn,  and  fished 
Tommy  out  of  the  pig-sty,  and  threw  a  bucket  of  water 
over  him,  and  put  up  the  ladder  so  George  could  git  down 
from  the  haymow,  and  they  all  got  round  poor  old  Jinnie 
and  stood  as  hard  as  they  could  and  laughed."  Here  Pro 
fessor  Strout  pushed  back  his  chair  and  rose  to  his  feet. 
"That's  how  old  Bill  Tompkins  got  his  beef." 

There  was  a  general  laugh  and  a  pushing  back  of  chairs, 
and  the  whole  company  arose  and  went  in  various  direc 
tions  to  their  afternoon  work.  Professor  Strout  went  into 
the  front  entry,  for  he  always  entered  and  left  the  house  by 
the  front  door.  Quincy  followed  him,  and  closing  the  door 
that  led  into  the  dining-room,  said,  "Mr.  Strout,  I  would 
like  to  see  you  in  my  room  for  half  an  hour  on  important 
business." 

"I  guess  'tain't  as  important  as  some  business  of  my  own 
I've  got  to  attend  to  this  arternoon.  I'm  goin'  over  to  the 
Centre  to  fix  up  my  accounts  as  tax  collector  with  the  town 
treasurer." 

"I  think  my  business  is  fully  as  important  as  that,"  said 
Quincy,  "it  relates  to  your  appointment  as  postmaster." 

"Oh,  you've  got  a  hand  in  that,  have  yer?"  asked  Strout, 
an  angry  flush  suffusing  his  face. 

"I  have  both  hands  in  it,"  replied  Quincy  imperturbably, 
"and  it  rests  with  you  entirely  whether  I  keep  hold  or  let 
go" 

"Wall,"  said  Strout,  looking  at  his  watch,  "I  kin  spare 
you  half  an  hour,  if  it  will  be  as  great  an  accommodation 
to  yer  as  yer  seem  to  think  it  will." 

And  he  followed  Quincy  upstairs  to  the  latter's  room. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

A    SETTLEMENT. 

' 

WHEN  they  entered  the  room  Quincy  motioned 
Strout  to  a  chair,  which  he  took.  He  then  closed 
the  door  and,  taking  a  cigar  case  from  his  pocket,  offered  a 
cigar  to  Strout,  which  the  latter  refused.  Quincy  then 
lighted  a  cigar  and,  throwing  himself  into  an  armchair  in  a 
comfortable  position,  looked  straight  at  the  Professor,  who 
returned  his  gaze  defiantly,  and  said: 

"Mr.  Strout,  there  is  an  open  account  of  some  two 
month's  standing  between  us,  and  I  have  asked  you  to 
come  up  here  to-day,  t>ecause  I  think  it  is  time  for  a  settle 
ment" 

"I  don't  owe  you  nuthin',"  said  Strout,  doggedly. 

"I  think  you  owe  me  better  treatment  than  you  have 
given  me  the  past  two  months,"  remarked  Quincy,  "but 
we'll  settle  that  point  later." 

"I  guess  I've  treated  you  as  well  as  you  have  me,"  re 
torted  Strout,  with  a  sneer. 

"But  you  began  it,"  said  Quincy,  "and  had  it  all  your 
own  way  for  two  months;  I  waited  patiently  for  you  to 
stop,  but  you  wouldn't,  so  the  last  week  I've  been  squaring 
up  matters,  and  there  is  only  one  point  that  hasn't  been 
settled.  From  what  I  have  heard,"  continued  Quincy,  "I 
am  satisfied  that  Miss  Mason  has  received  full  reparation 
for  any  slanderous  remarks  that  may  have  been  started  or 
circulated  by  you  concerning  herself." 

The  Professor  attentively  regarded  the  pattern  of  the 
carpet  on  the  floor. 

Quincy  continued,  "Miss  Lindy  Putnam  has  repeated  to 


322  QUINCY.    ADAMS    SAWYER. 

me  what  she  told  Mr.  Stiles  about  her  visit  to  Boston,  and 
attributed  the  distorted  and  untrue  form  in  which  it  reached 
the  inhabitants  of  this  town  to  your  well-known  powers  of 
invention.  Am  I  right?" 

The  Professor  looked  up.  "I'll  have  somethin'  to  say 
^when  you  git  through,"  he  replied. 

"I  expect  and  ask  no  apology  or  reparation  for  what 
you've  said  about  me,"  remarked  Quincy.  "You  made  your 
boast  that  one  of  us  had  got  to  leave  town,  and  it  wouldn't 
be  you.  When  I  heard  that  I  determined  to  stay  at  what 
ever  cost,  and  we'll  settle  this  afternoon  which  one  of  us  is 
going  to  change  his  residence." 

"I  don't  think  you  kin  run  me  out  o'  town,"  said  Strout, 
savagely. 

"Well,  I  don't  know,"  rejoined  Quincy.  "Let  us  see 
what  I  have  done  in  a  week.  You  insulted  Mr.  Pettengill 
and  his  sister  by  not  inviting  them  to  the  surprise  party.  I 
know  it  was  done  to  insult  me  rather  than  them,  but  you 
will  remember  that  we  three  were  present,  and  had  a  very 
pleasant  time.  I  was  the  lawyer  that  advised  Deacon  Mason 
not  to  loan  that  five  hundred  dollars  to  pay  down  on  the 
store.  I  told  the  Deacon  I  would  loan  ihim  five  hundred 
dollars  if  the  store  was  knocked  down  to  you,  but  I  would 
have  had  that  store  if  it  had  cost  me  ten  thousand  dollars 
instead  of  three.  I  was  the  one  who  put  your  war  record 
in  the  hands  of  Mr.  Tobias  Smith,  and  I  was  the  one  that 
prepared  the  statement  wh'ch  showed  how  negligent  you 
had  been  in  attending  to  your  duties  as  tax  collector.'5 

"Payin'  so  much  attention  to  other  people's  business 
must  have  made  yer  forget  yer  own,"  said  Strout,  shutting 
his  teeth  together  with  a  snap. 

"Oh,  no,"  remarked  Quincy,  with  a  laugh;  "I  had  plenty 
of  time  left  to  take  a  hand  in  village  politics,  and  my  friend 
Mr.  Stackpole  was  elected  by  a  very  handsome  vote,  as  you, 


A    SETTLEMENT.  325 

have  no  doubt  heard."  Strout  dug  his  heel  into  the  carpet, 
but  said  nothing. 

"Now,"  continued  Quincy,  "I've  had  your  appointment 
as  postmaster  held  up  till  you  and  I  come  to  terms." 

"You're  takin'  a  lot  of  trouble  for  nothin',"  said  Strout. 
"I  can't  be  postmaster  unless  I  have  a  store.  I  guess  I  kin 
manage  to  live  with  my  music  teachin'  and  organ  playin' 
at  the  church." 

"I've  thought  of  that,"  said  Quincy.  "I  don't  wish  to  go 
to  extremes,  but  I  will  if  it  is  necessary.  Before  you  leave 
this  room,  Mr.  Strout,  you  must  decide  whether  you  will 
work  with  me  or  against  me  in  the  future." 

"S'posin5  I  decide  to  work  agin  yer?"  asked  Strout; 
"what  then?" 

"Well/'  said  Quincy  sternly,  "if  you  drive  me  to  it,  I'll 
bring  down  a  couple  of  good  music  teachers  from  Boston. 
They'll  teach  music  for  nothing,  and  I'll  pay  them  good 
salaries.  The  church  needs  a  new  organ,  and  I'll  make 
them  a  present  of  one,  on  condition  that  they  get  a  new 
organist." 

Strout  looked  down  reflectively  for  a  few  minutes,  then 
he  glanced  up  and  a  queer  smile  passed  over  his  face. 
"S'posin'  I  switch  'round,"  said  he,  "and  say  I'll  work  with 
yer?" 

"If  you  say  it  and  mean  it,  Mr.  Strout,"  replied  Quincy, 
rising  from  his  chair,  "I'll  cross  off  the  old  score  and  start 
fresh  from  to-day.  I'm  no  Indian,  and  have  no  vindictive 
feelings.  You  and  I  have  been  playing  against  each  other 
and  you've  lost  every  trick.  Now,  if  you  say  so,  we'll  play 
as  partners.  I'll  give  you  a  third  interest  in  the  grocery 
store  for  a  thousand  dollars.  The  firm  name  shall  be  Strout 
&  Maxwell.  I'll  put  in  another  thousand  dollars  to  buy  a 
couple  of  horses  and  wagons,  and  we'll  take  orders  and  de 
liver  goods  free  to  any  family  within  five  miles  of  the  store. 
Maxwell  will  have  a  third,  and  I'll  have  a  third  as  silent 


324  QUINSY   ADAMS  SAWYER. 

partner,  and  I'll  see  that  you  get  your  appointment  as 
postmaster." 

Quincy  looked  at  Strotit  expectantly,  awaiting  his  an 
swer.  Finally  it  came. 

"Gonsiderin'  as  how  you  put  it,"  said  Strout,  "I  don't 
think  you  and  me  will  clash  in  the  futur'." 

Quincy  extended  his  hand,  which  Strout  took,  and  the 
men  shook  hands. 

'That  settles  it,"  said  Quincy. 

"Just  half  an  hour!"  exclaimed  Sprout,  looking  at  his 
watch. 

A  loud  knock  was  heard  on  the  door. 

"I  guess  Abner  has  got  tired  o'  waitin'  and  has  come 
arter  me,"  remarked  Strout. 

Quincy  opened  the  door  and  Mr.  Stiles  stood  revealed. 

"Is  Professor  Strout  here?"  asked  he. 

"Yes,"  said  Quincy;  "come  in." 

"I  guess  I'll  see  him  out  here,"  continued  Abner.  "What 
I've  got  to  say  may  'be  kinder  private." 

"Come  in,  Abner,"  cried  Strout,  "and  let's  .hear  what's 
on  your  mind." 

"Wall,"  said  Abner,  looking  askance  at  Quincy,  "if  yer 
satisfied,  I  am.  Hiram  Maxwell's  jest  come  down  from 
Mis'  Putnam's,  and  Mis'  Heppy  Putnam's  dead," — 
Quincy  started  on  hearing  this, — ."and  Samanthy  Green  is 
at  her  wits'  end,  'cause  she  never  was  alone  in  the  house 
with  a  dead  pusson  afore,  an'  Hiram's  goin'  to  take  Betsy 
Green  back  to  stay  with  he .  sister,  and  then  he's  goin'  to 
take  Miss  Alice  Pettengill  down  home,  cuz  Miss  Petten- 
gnTs  most  tired  out;  cuz,  you  see,  she's  been  there  since 
eight  o'clock  this  mornin',  and  Mis'  Putnam  didn't  die  till 
about  one  o'clock,  and  Samanthy  says  Mis'  Putnam  took 
on  awful,  so  you  could  hear  her  all  over  the  house,  and 
Mss  Lindy  Putnam,  she's  goin'  to  take  the  next  train  to 
Bosting — she's  goin',  bag  and  baggage — and  I've  got  to 


A   SETTLEMENT.  32» 

drive  her  over  to  the  station,  and  Bob  Wood,  he's  comin* 
along  with  a  waggin  to  carry  her  trunks  and  bandboxes 
and  sich,  and  so  I've  come  to  tell  yer,  Professor,  that  I 
can't  take  yer  over  to  the  Centre  this  arternoon,  no  how." 

"That's  all  right,  Abner,"  said  Strout;  "considerin'  as 
how  things  has  gone,  to-morrow  will  do  just  as  well,  but  I 
wish  you'd  drop  in  and  tell  the  town  treasurer  that  I'm 
goin'  into  business  with  Mr.  Maxwell  and  Mr.  Sawyer 
here," — Abner's  eyes  dilated, — "under  the  firm  name  of 
Strout,  Maxwell,  &  Co." 

"No!"  interrupted  Quincy,  "let  the  sign  read,  Strout  & 
Maxwell." 

"And,"  continued  Mr.  Strout,  "Mr.  Sawyer  here  is  goin' 
to  push  through  my  app'intment  as  postmaster." 

By  this  time  Abner's  mouth  was  wide  open.  Quincy  saw 
it,  and  imagined  the  conflict  going  on  in  poor  Abner's 
mind. 

"What  Mr.  Strout  says  is  correct,"  remarked  Quincy, 
"but  you  have  no  time  to  lose  now.  Perhaps  to-night  Mr. 
Strout  will  explain  the  matter  more  fully  to  you." 

Abner  turned,  without  a  word,  and  left  the  room. 

"Mr.  Stiles  is  a  faithful  friend  of  yours,"  said  Quincy, 
turning  to  the  Professor. 

"Yes,"  assented  Strout;  "Abner's  a  very  good  shaft 
horse,  but  he  wouldn't  be  of  much  vally  as  a  lead." 

Quincy  again  extended  his  cigar  case.  This  time  the 
Professor  did  not  refuse,  but  took  two.  Holding  up  one 
of  them  between  his  fingers,  he  said,  "This  is  the  one  I 
didn't  take  wfaen  I  came  in." 

"I  will  have  the  partnership  papers  drawn  up  in  a  few 
days,  Mr.  Strout,  ready  for  signature,  and  I  will  v/rite  at 
once  to  my  friends  in  Washington,  and  urge  them  to  see 
the  Postmaster  General,  and  have  your  appointment  made 
as  soon  as  possible." 


826  QUINCT   ADAMS  SAWYER. 

"Yer  don't  let  no  grass  grow  under  yer  feet,  do  yer?" 
said  Strout. 

Quincy  was  a  little  taken  aback  by  this  remark,  for  he 
had  not  anticipated  a  compliment  from  the  Professor.  He 
turned  to  him  and  said,  "Until  you  forfeit  my  esteem,  we 
are  friends,  and  it  is  always  a  pleasure  to  me  to  help  my 
friends." 

The  men  shook  .hands  again,  and  the  Professor  left  the 
room. 

"Not  a  bad  man  at  heart,"  soliloquized  Quincy.  "I  am 
glad  the  affair  has  had  such  a  pleasant  termination.  Poor 
Alice!  What  a  time  she  must  have  had  with  Mrs.  Putnam, 
and  so  Lindy  is  going  to  keep  her  word,  and  not  stay  to 
the  funeral.  Well,  knowing  what  I  do,  I  don't  blame  her. 
Perhaps  Mrs.  Putnam  told  Alice  that  Lindy  was  not  her 
own  child,  for  Alice  would  not  accept  the  fortune,  I  know, 
if  she  thought  she  was  wronging  Lindy  by  doing  so.  I'll 
go  home," — he  smiled  as  he  said  this, — "and  probably  Alice 
will  teH  me  all  about  it." 

He  went  down  stairs,  and  not  seeing  Mrs.  Hawkins  in 
the  dining-room,  walked  out  into  the  kitchen,  where  she 
was  hard  at  work  washing  the  dinner  dishes. 

"Law,  Mr.  Sawyer,  why  didn't  you  holler  for  me  ef  you 
wanted  anything?" 

"I  don't  wish  for  anything  particularly,"  said  Quincy, 
"but  I  do  wish  to  compliment  you  on  your  chicken  salad;  it 
was  as  fine  as  any  I  ever  ate  at  Young's,  or  Parker's,  in 
Boston,  and,"  continued  he,  "here  are  twelve  dollars."  He 
held  out  the  money  to  'her,  she  wiped  her  hands  on  her 
apron. 

"What's  that  fur?"  she  asked.  "I've  got  six  dollars  of 
your  money  now." 

"That's  for  Mandy,"  said  Quincy;  "and  this,"  pressing 
the  money  into  her  hand,  "is  for  four  weeks'  room  rent;  I 
!im  liable  to  come  here  any  time  during  the  next  month.  I 


A  SETTLEMENT.  32^ 

am  going  into  business  with  Mr,  Strout  and  Mr.  Maxwell 
— we're  going  to  run  the  grocery  store  over  here,  and  it 
will  be  very  handy  to  be  so  near  to  the  store  until  we  get 
the  business  established.  Good  afternoon,  Mrs.  Hawkins,'5 
and  he  took  her  hand,  which  was  still  wet,  in  his,  and  shook 
it  warmly. 

He  turned  to  leave  the  house  by  the  kitchen  door,  but 
Mrs.  Hawkins  interposed. 

"You  better  go  out  the  front  way,"  said  she,  and  she  ran 
before  him  and  opened  the  door  leading  to  the  front  entry, 
and  then  the  front  door.  As  he  passed  out,  she  said,  "I 
wish  you  success,  Mr.  Sawyer,  and  we'll  gin  you  all  our 
trade." 

"Thank  you!"  said  Quincy.  He  walked  down  the  path, 
opened  the  front  gate,  and  as  he  closed  it  raised  his  hat  to 
Mrs.  Hawkins,  who  stood  in  the  front  doorway,  her  thin, 
angular  face  wreathed  in  smiles. 

"Wall,"  said  she,  as  she  closed  the  front  door  and  walked 
back  into  the  kitchen,  ''what  lies  some  folks  tell.  Now,  that 
Professor  Strout  has  allus  said  that  Mr.  Sawyer  was  so 
stuck  up  that  he  wouldn't  speak  to  common  folks.  Wall,  I 
think  he's  a  real  gentleman.  'Twon't  do  for  any  one  to  run 
him  down  to  me  arter  this." 

Here  she  thought  of  her  money,  and,  spreading  out  the 
tihree  bills  in  her  hand,  she  opened  the  kitchen  door  and 
screamed  at  the  top  of  her  voice,  "Jonas!  Jonas!!  Jonas!!!" 
There  were  no  signs  of  Jonas.  "Where  is  that  man?  He's 
never  'round  when  he's  wanted." 

"What  is  it,  Marthy?"  said  a  voice  behind  her.  Turning, 
she  saw  her  husband  puffing  away  at  his  brierwood  pipe. 

"I  thought  you  went  out  to  the  barn,"  said  she,  "to  help 
Abner  hitch  up?" 

"Wall,  I  did,"  he  replied;  "but  it  didn't  take  two  on  us 
long  to  do  that.  I  eat  so  much  chicken  salad  that  it  laid 
kinder  heavy  on  my  stummick,  so  I  went  out  in  the  wood- 


S28  QUINCY   ADAMS   SAWYER. 

shed  to  have  a  smoke.     But  where  did  you  git  all  that 

money?" 

"Mr.  Sawyer  took  the  front  room  for  two  weeks  and 
paid  for  it  ahead,  and  do  you  know  he  said  my  chicken 
salad  was  jist  as  good  as  Mrs.  Young  and  Mrs.  Parker 
makes  down  to  Bosting." 

"I  don't  know  Mrs.  Young  nor  Mrs.  Parker,"  said  Jonas, 
"but  on  makin'  chicken  salad  I'll  match  Mrs.  Hawkins 
agin  'em  any  day;"  and  he  went  out  in  the  wood-shed  to 
finish  his  smoke. 

As  Quincy  walked  down  the  road  towards  the  Pettengill 
house  his  mind  was  busy  with  his  thoughts. 

"To  think,"  said  he  to  himself,  "that  while  I  was  listening 
to  those  stories,  to  call  them  by  no  worse  name,  at  the 
dinner  table,  the  woman  I  love  was  witnessing  the  death 
agony  and  listening  to  the  last  words  of  a  dear  friend — the 
woman  who's  going  to  leave  her  a  fortune.  Now  that  she 
knows  that  sihe's  an  heiress,  I  can  speak;  she  never  would 
have  listened  to  me,  knowing  that  she  was  poor  and  I  was 
rich,  and  I  never  could  have  spoken  to  her  with  that  secret 
in  my  mind  that  Mrs.  Putnam  told  me — that  she  was  going 
to  leave  her  all  her  money.  J  am  so  glad  for  Alice's  sake, 
even  if  she  does  not  love  me.  She  can  have  the  best  medi 
cal  attendance  now,  and  she  will  be  able  to  give  all  her 
time  to  her  literary  work,  for  which  she  has  a  decided 
genius.  Won't  she  b°  delighted  when  I  tell  her  that  Leo 
pold  has  placed  all  her  stories  and  wants  her  to  write  a 
took?" 

As  he  reached  the  front  gate  he  saw  Hiram  driving  up 
the  road  and  Alice  was  with  him.  As  Hiram  stopped, 
Quincy  stepped  forward  and  took  Alice's  hand  to  assist  her 
in  alighting  from  the  buggy. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Sawyer,"  said  she,  "have  you  heard  that  Mrs. 
Putnam  is  dead,  and  I've  had  such  a  terrible  day  with  her?" 

Her  nervous  svstem  had  been  wrought  to  its  highest 


A  SETTLEMENT.  S2f 

tension  by  what  she  had  undergone  during  the  past  six 
hours.  She  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears.  Then  she  tottered 
and  would  have  fallen  if  Quincy  had  not  grasped  her. 

"Can  you  walk?"  he  asked. 

She  took  a  step  forward,  but  (he  saw  at  a  glance  that  she 
had  not  sufficient  strength  to  reach  her  room. 

"Open  the  gate,  Hiram.  Then  give  the  door-bell  a  good 
sharp  ring,  .so  that  Mandy  will  come  quickly." 

He  took  her  in  his  arms  and  went  up  the  path,  by  tihe 
astonished  Mandy,  and  upstairs  to  Alice's  room,  where  he 
laid  her  tenderly  upon  her  bed.  Turning  to  Miandy,  who 
had  followed  close  at  his  heels,  he  said: 

"She  is  not  sick,  only  nervous  and  worn  out.  If  you 
need  me,  call  me." 

He  went  into  his  own  room  and  thanked  Heaven  that 

he  had  been  at  hand  to  render  her  the  service  that  she  so 

much  needed.    When  he  went  down  to  supper  Mandy  told 

him  that  Miss  Alice  was  asleep,  and  she  guessed  she'd  be 

all  right  in  the  morning. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

AN   INHERITANCE. 

QUINCY  reached  his  room  at  Mrs.  Hawkins's  board 
ing  house  about  midnight  of  the  day  of  the  town 
meeting.  About  the  same  hour  Mrs.  Heppy  Putnam 
awoke  from  a  troubled  sleep  and  felt  a  pain,  like  the  thrust 
of  a  knife  blade,  through  her  left  side.  The  room  was 
dark  and  cold,  the  wood  fire  in  the  open  grate  having  died 
out  a  couple  of  hours  before,  while  a  cool  wind  was  blowing 
with  great  force  outside. 

Mrs.  Putnam  came  of  the  old  stock  which  considered  it 
a  virtue  to  suffer  and  be  silent,  rather  than  call  out  and  be 
saved.  So  she  lay  for  five  long  hours  suffering  intense 
pain,  but  declaring  to  herself,  with  all  the  sturdiness  of  an 
old  Roman  warrior  or  an  Indian  chief,  that  she  would  not 
ask  for  any  assistance  "till  it  wuz  time  for  folks  to  git  up/' 

This  delay  was  fatal,  or  was  destined  to  become  so,  but 
she  did  not  know  it ;  she  had  had  colds  before,  and  she  had 
always  got  well.  Why  should'nt  she  now?  It  is  a  strange 
vagary  of  old  people  to  consider  themselves  just  as  young 
as  they  used  to  be,  notwithstanding  their  advanced  years 
To  the  majority  of  the  old  people,  the  idea  of  death  is  not 
so  appalling  as  the  inability  to  work  and  the  incapacity  to 
enjoy  the  customary  pleasures  of  life. 

Mrs.  Putnam  had  always  been  an  active,  energetic 
woman  until  she  had  lost  her  power  to  walk  as  the  result  of 
rheumatic  fever;  in  fact,  it  was  always  acknowledged  and 
said  by  the  country  folk  that  she  was  the  better  half  of  the 
matrimonial  firm  of  Silas  and  Hepsibeth  Putnam.  Since 
her  husband's  failure  to  mount  to  Heaven  on  the  day  fixed 


AN  INHERITANCE.  331 

for  the  Second  Advent  she  had  had  entire  control  of  the 
family  finances.  Her  investments,  many  of  which  had 
been  suggested  by  her  deceased  son,  J.  Jones  Putnam,  had 
been  very  profitable. 

She  owned  the  house  in  which  she  lived,  which  was  the 
largest,  best  finished,  and  best  furnished  one  in  the  town  of 
Eastborough.  It  occupied  a  commanding  position  on  the 
top  of  a  hill,  and  from  its  upper  windows  could  be  obtained 
a  fine  view  of  the  surrounding  country.  The  soil  at  Mason's 
Corner  was  particularly  fertile,  and  this  fact  had  led  to  the 
rapid  growth  of  the  village,  which  was  three  miles  from  the 
business  centre  of  Eastborough,  and  only  a  mile  from  the 
similar  part  of  the  adjoining  town  of  Montrose. 

Back  of  the  Putnam  homestead  were  the  best  barns,  car 
riage  houses,  sheds  and  other  outbuildings  to  be  found  in 
the  town,  but  for  years  they  had  been  destitute  of  horses, 
cattle,  and  other  domestic  animals. 

Mr.  Putnam  had  disliked  dogs  because  they  killed  sheep, 
and  Mrs.  Putnam  detested  cats.  For  years  no  chanticleer 
had  awakened  echoes  during  the  morning  hours,  and  no 
hens  or  chickens  wandered  over  the  neglected  farm.  The 
trees  in  the  large  orchard  had  not  been  pruned  for  a  long 
time,  and  the  larg'e  vegetable  garden  was  overrun  with 
grass  and  weeds. 

Back  of  the  orchard  and  the  vegetable  garden,  and  to 
the  right  and  left  of  the  homestead,  were  about  a  hundred 
and  sixty  acres  of  arable  pasture  and  wood-land,  the  whole 
forming  what  could  be  easily  made  the  finest  farm  in  the 
town. 

The  farm  had  been  neglected  simply  because  the  income 
from  her  investments  was  more  than  sufficient  for  the  sup 
port  of  the  family.  The  unexpended  income  had  been 
added  to  the  principal,  until  Mrs.  Putnam's  private  for 
tune  now  amounted  to  fully  fifty  thousand  dollars,  invested 


583  QUINCY    ADAMS    SAWYER. 

in  goou  securities,  together  with  the  house  and  farm, 
which  were  free  from  mortgage. 

When  the  first  streaks  of  morning  reached  the  room 
in  which  Mrs.  Putnam  lay  upon  her  bed  of  pain,  she  seized 
one  of  her  crutches,  and  pounded  vigorously  upon  the 
floor.  In  a  short  time  Samanthy  Green  entered  the  room. 
She  was  buttoning  up  her  dress  as  she  came  in,  and  her 
hair  was  in  a  dishevelled  condition. 

"Why,  what  on  earth's  the  matter?  You  wheeze  like 
our  old  pump  out  in  the  barn.  You  do  look  real  sick,  to 
be  sure." 

"Wall,  if  you  don't  like  the  looks  of  me,"  said  Mrs.  Put 
nam  sharply,  "don't  look  at  me." 

"But  didn't  you  pound?"  asked  Samanthy.  "Don't  you 
want  me  to  go  for  the  doctor?" 

"No,"  replied  Mrs.  Putnam,  "I  don't  want  no  doctor. 
The  fust  thing  that  I  want  you  to  do  is  to  go  and  comb 
that  frowzy  pate  of  yourn,  and  when  you  git  that  done  I 
want  yer  to  make  me  a  mustard  plaster  'bout  as  big  as 
that;"  and  she  held  up  her  hands  about  a  foot  apart. 
"Now  go,  and  don't  stand  and  look  at  me  as  though  I  wuz 
a  circus  waggin." 

Samanthy  left  the  room  quickly,  but  she  had  no  sooner 
closed  the  door  when  Mrs.  Putnam  called  out  her  name 
in  a  loud  voice,  and  Samanthy  opened  the  door  and  looked 
in. 

"Did  you  call,  marm?"  she  asked. 

"Of  course  I  did,"  said  Mrs.  Putnam  testily.  "I  guess 
ye  wouldn't  have  come  back  if  yer  hadn't  known  I  did." 

Mrs.  Putnam  was  evidently  in  a  bad  temper,  and  Sa 
manthy  had  learned  by  years  of  experience  to  keep  a  close 
mouth  under  such  circumstances,  so  she  waited  for  Mrs. 
Putnam's  next  words  without  replying.  Finally  Mrs  Put 
nam  spoke.  "I  wish  you'd  bring  up  some  wood  and  start 
a  fire,  the  room's  kinder  cold." 


AN  INHERITANCE.  35S 

When  Samanthy  reached  the  kitchen  she  found  Lindy 
there. 

"Why,  Miss  Lindy,"  said  she,  "what  are  you  up  so  early 
for?" 

"I  heard  mother  pounding  and  I  thought  she  might  be 
sick." 

"She  is  awful  sick,"  rejoined  Samanthy;  "I  never  saw 
her  look  so  poorly  afore;  she  seems  to  be  all  choked  up. 
She  wants  a  big  mustard  plaster  and  a  fire  up  in  her  room, 
and  I  don't  know  which  to  do  fust.  Oh!"  she  cried,  "I 
must  comb  my  hair  before  I  go  back;"  and  she  wet  a  brush 
and  commenced  brushing  out  her  long  brown  hair,  which, 
with  her  rosy  cheeks,  formed  her  two  principal  claims  to 
good  looks. 

"Sit  down,"  said  Lindy,  "and  I'll  fix  your  hair  up  much 
quicker  than  you  can  do  it  yourself." 

"And  much  better,  too,"  added  Samanthy  thankfully. 

"While  you're  building  the  fire,"  continued  Lindy,  "I'll 
mix  up  the  mustard  plaster." 

When  Samanthy  entered  the  chamber  with  the  materials 
for  the  fire,  Mrs.  Putnam  opened  her  eyes  and  said  sharply, 
"Did  yer  bring  that  plaster?" 

"No,"  said  Samanthy,  "I  thought  I  would  build  the  fire 
fust." 

"Wall,"  said  Mrs.  Putnam,  "I  want  the  plaster  fust,  and 
you  go  right  down  stairs  and  mix  it  up  quick." 

When  Samanthy  returned  to  the  kitchen  she  found  that 
7 Judy  had  the  plaster  all  ready.  Samanthy  took  it,  and 
started  upstairs. 

Lindy  said  to  her,  "Don't  tell  her  that  I  made  it."  As 
she  said  this  she  stepped  back  into  the  kitchen  and  closed 
the  door. 

As  Samanthy  approached  the  bedside  with  the  plaster, 
IMrs.  Putnam  looked  up  and  asked,  "Did  you  make  that 
plaster,  Samanthy?" 

"Yes'm,"  replied  Samanthy. 


334  QUINCY   ADAMS   SAWYER. 

"You're  lyin',  Samanthy  Green,  and  you  know  yer  are. 
You  can't  fool  me.  Didn't  I  hear  yer  talkin'  to  somebody 
in  the  kitchen?" 

"Yes'm,"  assented  Samanthy. 

"Wall,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Putnam,  "of  course  I  know  who 
it  wuz  yer  wuz  talkin'  to.  Did  she  make  the  plaster?" 

"Yes'm,"  again  assented  Samanthy. 

"Give  it  to  me,"  said  Mrs.  Putnam. 

'Samanthy  passed  it  to  her,  and  the  old  lady  crumpled 
it  in  her  hand's  and  threw  it  across  the  room.  "Now  go 
down  stairs,  Samanthy  Green,  and  make  me  a  mustard 
plaster,  as  I  told  yer  to,  and  when  I  git  up  outer  this  I'll 
see  if  I  can't  git  somebody  to  wait  on  me  that  kin  tell  the 
truth  'thout  my  havin'  to  help  'em." 

In  the  course  of  half  an  hour  the  new  plaster  was  made 
and  applied,  and  a  bright  fire  was  shedding  its  warmth 
into  the  room. 

"Go  down  stairs  and  git  yer  breakfast,"  said  Mrs.  Put 
nam.  "  "Tis  a  trifle  early,  but  I  hearn  tell  that  lyin'  makes 
people  hungry." 

As  Samanthy  gave  her  an  inquiring  look,  Mrs.  Putnam 
said,  "No,  I  don't  want  nothin'  to  eat  or  drink  nuther,  but 
when  yer  git  the  dishes  washed  I  want  yer  ter  go  on  an 
errand  for  me." 

It  was  half  past  six  when  Samanthy  Green  again  stood 
in  Mrs.  Putnam's  room. 

"I  want  yer  to  go  right  down  to  Zeke  Pettengill's  and 
tell  his  sister  Alice  that  I  want  her  to  come  right  up  here. 
Tell  her  it's  my  las'  sickness,  and  I  won't  take  'no'  for  an 
answer.  Be  sure  you  put  it  to  her  jest  as  I  do;  and  Sa 
manthy,"  as  Samanthy  opened  the  door  and  was  leaving 
the  room,  "say,  Samanthy,  don't  git  anybody  to  do  the 
errand  for  you." 

About  ten  minutes  after  Samanthy  left  the  house,  Lindy 
Putnam  entered  the  sick  room.  Mrs.  Putnam's  pain  had 


AX  INHERITANCE.  835 

been  relieved  somev/hat  by  the  mustard,  and  this  relief  re 
stored,  to  a  great  extent,  her  usual  vigor  of  mind. 

"What  are  you  up  here  for?"  cried  Mrs.  Putnam,  a  look 
of  displeasure  clouding  her  face. 

"I  knew  Samanthy  had  gone  out,  and  so  I  came  up  to 
see  if  I  could  do  anything  for  you,  mother." 

"Don't  mother  me.  I  ain't  your  mother,  and  I  mean, 
ev'rybody  shall  know  it  soon's  I'm  dead." 

"I've  had  to  say  mother  before  other  people,"  explained 
Lindy,  "and  that's  why  I  forgot  myself  then.  Pray  ex 
cuse  me." 

"Oh,  don't  put  on  yer  citified  airs  when  yer  talkin'  to  me. 
Ain't  yer  glad  I'm  goin'  ter  die?" 

"I  hope  you  will  get  better,  Mrs.  Putnam,"  answered 
Lindy. 

"You  know  better,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Putnam.  "You'll  be 
glad  when  I'm  gone,  for  then  you  kin  go  gallivantin'  'round 
and  spend  the  money  that  my  son  worked  hard  fur." 

"I've  used  very  little  of  it,"  said  Lindy;  "less  than  the 
interest;  I  have  never  touched  the  principal." 

Lindy  still  remained  standing  at  the  foot  of  the  bed. 

"Didn't  yer  hear  me  say  I  didn't  want  nuthin'?"  asked 
Mrs.  Putnam. 

"I  will  leave  the  room  then,"  replied  Lindy  quietly. 

"I  wish  you  would,"  said  Mrs.  Putnam,  "and  you'll  do 
me  a  favor  if  you'll  pack  yer  duds  as  quick  as  yer  ;can 
and  git  out  of  the  house  and  never  come  back  agin." 

"I  will  leave  the  room,  but  I  cannot  leave  the  house 
while  you  are  alive,"  remarked  Lindy  firmly. 

"Why  not?"  said  Mrs.  Putnam.  "I  want  to  die  in  peace, 
and  I  shall  go  much  easier  if  I  know  I  haven't  got  to  set 
my  eyes  on  your  face  agin." 

"I  promised  Jones,"  said  Lindy,  "that  I  would  never 
leave  you  while  you  were  alive." 

"Oh,  you  promised  Jones,  did  yer?"  cried  Mrs.  Putnam 


336  QUINCT   ADAMS   SAWYEli. 

with  a  sneer.  "Wall,  Jones  will  let  you  off  on  yer  promise 
jest  to  'blige  me,  so  yer  needn't  stay  any  longer." 

As  Lindy  walked  towards  the  door,  Mrs.  Putnam  spoke 
again. 

"Did  yer  ever  tell  anybody  I  wasn't  yer  mother?"  Lindy 
hesitated.  'Why  don't  you  out  with  it,"  said  Mrs.  Put 
nam,  "and  say  no,  no  matter  if  it  is  a  lie?  Samanthy  can 
lie  faster'n  a  horse  can  trot,  and  I  know  you  put  her  up  to 
it." 

"I  have  been  impudent  and  disrespectful  to  you  many 
times,  Mrs.  Putnam,  when  you  were  cross  to  me,  but  I 
never  told  you  a  deliberate  lie  in  my  life.  I  have  told  one 
person  that  you  were  not  my  mother." 

"What  did  yer  do  it  fur?"  asked  Mrs.  Putnam. 

"I  wished  to  retain  his  good  opinion,"  replied  Lindy. 

"Who  was  it?"  inquired  Mrs.  Putnam  eagerly.  Lindy 
did  not  answer.  "Oh,  you  won't  tell!"  said  Mrs.  Putnam. 
"Wall,  I  bet  I  can  guess;  it's  that  feller  that's  boardin' 
over  to  Pettingill's." 

Mrs.  Putnam  saw  the  blood  rise  in  Lindy's  face,  and  she 
chuckled  to  herself. 

"What  reason  have  you  for  forming  such  an  opinion?" 
asked  Lindy. 

"Wall,  I  can  kinder  put  two  and  two  together,"  said 
Mrs.  Putnam.  "The  day  Alice  Pettengill  came  over  here 
with  him  you  two  wuz  down  in  the  parlor  together,  and  1 
had  to  pound  on  the  floor  three  times  afore  I  could  make 
him  hear.  I  knew  you  must  be  either  spoonin'  or  abusin', 
me." 

It  was  with  difficulty  that  Lindy  kept  back  the  words 
which  rose  to  her  lips,  but  she  said  nothing. 

"Did  yer  tell  him  that  I  wuz  goin*  to  leave  my  money 
to  some  one  else?" 

"It  wasn't  necessary,"  said  Lindy,  "I  judged  from  some 
things  that  he  said  that  you  had  told  him  yourself." 


AN  INHERITANCE.  337 

'Did  he  tell  you  who  it  wuz?"  persisted  Mrs.  Putnam. 

"No,"  said  Lindy.  "I  did  my  best  to  find  out,  but  he 
wouldn't  tell  me." 

"Good  for  him/'  cried  Mrs.  Putnam.  "Then  ye  don't 
know?" 

"I  can  put  two  and  two  together,"  replied  Lindy, 
I    "But  where'd  yer  git  the  two  and  two?"  asked  Mrs.  Put 
nam. 

"Oh,  I  have  surmised  for  a  long  time,"  continued  Lindy. 
"This  morning  I  asked  Samanthy  where  she  was  going1, 
and  she  said  down  to  Pettengili's.  Then  I  knew." 

"I  told  her  not  to  tell,"  said  Mrs,  Putnam,  "the  lyin* 
jade.  If  I  git  up  off  this  bed  she'll  git  her  walkin'  ticket." 

"She's  ready  to  go,"  said  Lindy;  "she  told  me  this  morn 
ing  that  she'd  wait  until  you  got  a  new  girl." 

Mrs.  Putnam  closed  her  eyes  and  placed  both  of  her 
hands  over  her  heart.  Despite  her  fortitude  the  intense 
pain  wrung  a  groan  from  her. 

Lindy  rushed  forward  and  dropped  on  her  knees  beside 
the  bed.  "Forgive  me,  Mrs.  Putnam,"  said  she,  "but  you 
spoke  such  cruel  words  to  me  that  I  could  not  help  an 
swering  you  in  the  same  way.  I  am  so  sorry.  I  loved 
your  son  with  all  my  heart,  and  I  had  no  right  to  speak  so 
to  his  mother,  no  matter  what  she  said  to  me." 

The  paroxysm  of  pain  had  passed,  and  Mrs.  Putnam  was 
her  old  self  again.  Looking  at  the  girl  who  was  kneeling 
with  her  head  bowed  down  she  said,  "I  guess  both  of  us 
.talked  about  as  we  felt;  as  for  loving  my  son,  yer  had  no 
•right  to,  and  he  had  no  right  to  love  you." 

"But  we  were  brother  and  sister,"  cried  Lindy,  looking 
up. 

'  Twould  have  'been  all  right  if  he'd  let  it  stop  there," 
replied  Mrs.  Putnam.  "Who  put  it  into  his  head  that 
there  was  no  law  agin  a  man  marryin*  his  adopted  sister? 
You  wuz  a  woman  grown  of  eighteen,  and  he  wuz  only  a 
young  boy  of  sixteen,  and  you  made  him  love  yer  and  turn 


138  QUINCY  ADAMS    SAWYEK, 

agin  his  mother,  and  then  we  had  ter  send  him  away  from 
home  ter  keep  yer  apart,  and  then  you  ran  after  him,  and 
then  he  died,  and  it  broke  my  heart.  You  wuz  the  cause 
of  it,  but  for  yer  he  would  be  livin'  now,  a  comfort  to  his 
poor  old  mother.  I  hated  yer  then  for  what  yer  did. 
Ev'ry  time  I  look  at  yer  I  think  of  the  happiness  you  stole 
from  me,  an'  I  hate  yer  wusser'n  ever." 

"Oh,  mother,  mother!"  sobbed  Lindy. 

"I'm  not  your  mother,"  screamed  Mrs.  Putnam.  "I  s'pose 
you  must  have  had  one,  but  you'll  never  know  who  she 
wuz;  she  didn't  care  nuthin'  fer  yer,  for  she  left  yer  in 
the  road,  and  Silas  was  fool  enough  to  pick  yer  up  and 
bring  yer  home.  Wihat  yer  right  name  is  nobody  knows, 
and  mebbe  yer  ain't  got  none." 

At  this  taunt  Lindy  arose  to  her  feet  and  looked  de 
fiantly  at  Mrs.  Putnam.  "You  are  not  telling  the  truth, 
Mrs.  Putnam,"  said  the  girl ;  "you  know  who  my  parents 
were,  but  you  will  riot  tell  me." 

"That's  right,"  said  Mrs.  Putnam,  "git  mad  and  show 
yer  temper;  that's  better  than  sheddin'  crocodile's  tears, 
as  yer've  been  doin';  yer've  been  a  curse  to  me  from  the 
day  I  fust  set  eyes  on  yer.  I've  said  I  hate  yer,  and  I  do, 
an'  I'll  never  forgive  yer  fer  what  yer've  done  to  me." 

Lindy  saw  that  words  were  useless.  Perhaps  Mrs.  Put 
nam  might  recover,  and  if  she  did  not  provoke  her  too  far 
she  might  relent  some  day  and  tell  her  what  she  knew 
about  her  parents;  so  she  walked  to  the  door  and  opened 
it.  Then  she  turned  and  said,  "Good-by,  Mrs.  Putnaml  1 
truly  hope  that  you  will  recover." 

"Wall,  I  sha'n't,"  said  Mrs.  Putnam.  'I'm  goin'  to  die, 
I  want  ter  die.  I  want  ter  see  Jones;  I  want  ter  talk  ter 
him;  I  want  ter  tell  him  how  much  I  loved  him — how 
much  I've  suffered  through  yer.  I'm  goin'  ter  tell  him 
how  I've  hated  yer  and  what  fer,  and  when  I  git  through 
telkin'  to  him,  I'll  guarantee  he'll  be  my  way  o'  thinl-nV." 

As  the  old  woman  said  this,  with  an  almost  superhuman 


AN  INHERITANCE.  339 

effort  she  raised  herself  to  a  sitting  posture,  pointed  her 
finger  at  Lindy,  and  gave  utterances  to  a  wild,  hysterical 
laugh  that  almost  froze  the  blood  in  the  poor  girl's  veins. 

Lindy  slammed  the  door  behind  her,  rushed  to  her  own 
room,  locked  the  door,  and  threw  herself  face  downward 
upon  the  bed.  Should  she  ever  forget  those  last  fearful 
words,  that  vengeful  face,  that  taunting  finger,  or  that 
mocking  laugh? 

Samanthy  took  Alice  up  to  Mrs.  Putnam's  room  about 
eight  o'clock.  Alice  knelt  by  the  bedside.  She  could 
not  see  the  old  lady's  face,  but  she  took  her  withered 
hands  in  hers,  and  caressed  them  lovingly,  saying,  "Aunt 
Heppy,  I  am  sorry  you  are  so  sick.  Have  you  had  the 
doctor?" 

The  old  lady  drew  the  young  girl's  head  down  close  to 
her  and  kissed  her  upon  the  cheek.  "The  docter  kin  do 
me  no  good..  I've  sent  fer  yer  becuz  I  know  yer  love  me, 
and  I  wanted  to  know  that  one  person  would  be  sorry 
when  I  wuz  gone." 

"I'm  so  sorry,"  said  Alice,  "that  I  cannot  see  to  help 
you,  but  you  are  not  going  to  die ;  you  must  have  the  doc 
tor  at  once." 

"No,"  said  Mrs.  Putnam,  "I  want  to  die,  I  want  to  see 
my  boy.  I  sent  for  you  becuz  I  wanted  to  tell  you  that 
I  am  goin'  to  leave  this  house  and  farm  and  all  my  money 
to  you." 

"To  me!"  cried  Alice,  astonished.  "Why,  how  can  you 
talk  so,  Aunt  Heppy?  You  have  a  daughter,  who  is  your 
legal  heir;  how  could  you  ever  think  of  robbing  your  own 
flesh  and  blood  of  her  inheritance?" 

"She's  no  flesh  and  blood  of  mine!" 

'What!"  cried  Alice,  "isn't  Lindy  your  own  child?" 

"No,"  said  Mrs.  Putnam  savagely.  "Silas  and  me  didn't 
think  we'd  have  any  children,  so  we  'dopted  her  jest  afore 
we  moved  down  from  New  Hampshire  and  settled  in  this 
town." 


S40  QUINCY  ADAMS  SAWYEK. 

"Do  you  know  who  her  parents  were?"  inquired  Alice. 

"Alice,  what  did  you  do  with  that  letter  I  gave  you  the 
las'  time  you  were  here?" 

"It  is  locked  up  in  my  writing  desk  at  home,"  answered 
Alice. 

"What  did  yer  promise  to  do  with  it?"  said  Mrs.  Putnam. 

"1  promised,"  replied  Alice,  "not  to  let  any  one  see  it, 
and  to  destroy  it  within  twenty-four  hours  after  your 
death." 

"And  you  will  keep  yer  promise?"  asked  the  old  woman. 

"My  word  is  sacred,"  said  Alice  solemnly. 

"Alice  Pettengill,"  cried  Mrs.  Putnam,  "if  you  break 
your  word  to  me  I  shall  be  sorry  that  I  ever  loved  you;  I 
shall  repent  that  I  made  you  my  heiress."  And  her  voice 
rose  to  a  sharp,  shrill  tone.  "I'll  haunt  you  as  long  as  you 
live." 

The  girl  shrank  back  from  her. 

"Don't  mind  a  poor  old  woman  whose  hours  are  num 
bered,  but  you'll  keep  yer  promise,  won't  yer,  Alice?"  And 
she  grasped  both  Alice's  hands  convulsively. 

"Aunt  Heppy,"  said  Alice,  "I've  given  you  my  promise, 
and  I'll  keep  my  word  whatever  happens.  So  don't  worry 
any  more  about  it,  Auntie." 

For  a  few  moments  Mrs.  Putnam  remained  quiet;  then 
she  spoke  in  clear,even  tones.  Not  a  word  was  lost  upon 
Alice.  "This  adopted  daughter  of  mine  has  been  a  curse 
to  me  ever  since  I  knew  her.  She  was  two  years  older 
than  Jones.  They  grew  up  together  as  brother  and  sister, 
but  she  wasn't  satisfied  with  that,  she  fell  in  love  with  my 
son,  and  she  made  him  love  her.  She  turned  him  agin  his 
mother.  She  found  out  that  there  wuz  no  law  agin  a 
man's  marryin*  his  adopted  sister.  We  had  to  send  him 
away  from  home,  but  she  followed  him.  She  wuz  goin*  to 
elope  with  him,  but  I  got  wind  of  it,  and  I  stopped  that; 
then  Jones  died  away  from  home  and  left  her  all  his  money. 
He  wuz  so  bitter  agin  me  that  he  put  in  his  will  that 


AN  INHERITANCE.  341 

was  not  to  touch  a  dollar  of  my  money,  but  better  that  than 
to  have  her  marry  him.  I  stopped  that!"  and  the  old 
woman  chuckled  to  herself.  Then  her  mood  changed. 
"Such  a  marriage  would  'a'  been  a  sin  agin  God  and  man," 
she  said  sternly.  "She  robbed  me  of  any  son,  my  only 
boy,  but  I'll  git  even  with  her.  She  asked  me  this  mornin' 
if  I  knew  who  her  parents  wuz.  I  told  her  no,  that  she 
was  a  waif  picked  up  in  a  New  Hampshire  road,  but  I  lied 
to  her.  I  had  to." 

"But  do  you  know  who  they  were?"  said  Alice. 

"Certainly  I  do,"  said  Mrs.  Putnam;  "that  letter  you've 
got,  and  that  yer  promised  to  destroy,  tells  all  about  'em, 
but  she  shall  never  see  it.  Never!  Never!!  Never!!!" 

Again  she  rose  to  a  sitting  posture,  and  again  that  wild, 
mocking  laugh  rang  through  the  house.  Lhidy,  still  lying 
upon  her  bed  in  her  room,  heard  it,  shuddered,  and  covered 
her  ears  with  her  hands  to  shut  out  the  terrible  sound. 
Samanthy,  in  the  kitchen,  heard  it,  and  saying  to  herself, 
"Mrs.  Putnam  has  gone  crazy,  and  only  that  blind  girl 
with  her,"  ran  upstairs. 

When  Mrs.  Putnam  uttered  that  wild  laugh,  Alice  started 
from  her  chair  with  beating  heart  and  a  frightened  look 
upon  her  face.  As  the  door  opened  and  Samanthy  entered, 
Alice  stepped  forward.  She  could  not  see  who  it  was,  but 
supposing  it  was  Lindy,  she  cried  out,  "Oh,  Lindy,  I'm  so 
glad  you've  come!" 

Mrs.  Putnam  had  fallen  back  exhausted  upon  her  pil 
low;  when  she  heard  the  name  Lindy  she  tried  to  rise 
again,  but  could  not.  But  her  indomitable  spirit  still  sur 
vived. 

"So  you've  come  back,  have  you?"  she  shrieked.  <:Yer 
couldn't  let  me  die  in  peace.  You  want  to  hear  more,  do 
you?  Well,  I'll  tell  you  the  truth.  I  know  who  your  par 
ents  are.  but  I  destroyed  the  letter;  it's  burned.  That's 
what  I  had  the  fire  built  for  this  mornin'.  You  robbed  me 
of  my  son  and  I've  got  even  with  yer."  The  old  womao 


342  QU1KCY   ADAMS  SAWYER. 

pointed  her  finger  at  poor  Samanthy,  who  stood  petrified 
in  the  doorway,  and  shrieked  again,  "Go!"  and  she  pointed 
'her  withered  finger  toward  the  door,  "and  hunt  for  your 
parents." 

The  astonished  Samanthy  finally  plucked  up  courage  to 
close  the  door;  she  ran  to  Lindy's  room  and  pounded  upon 
the  door  until  Lindy  was  forced  to  admit  her;  then  the 
frightened  girl  told  Lindy  what  she  had  heard,  and  again 
the  worse  than  orphan  threw  herself  upon  her  bed  and 
prayed  that  she,  too,  might  die. 

Alice  did  not  swoon,  but  she  sank  upon  the  floor,  over 
come  by  the  horror  of  the  scene.  No  sound  came  from 
the  bed.  Was  she  dead?  Alice  groped  her  way  back  to 
the  chair  in  which  she  had  previously  sat;  she  leaned  over 
and  listened.  Mrs.  Putnam  was  breathing  still — faint, 
short  breaths.  Alice  took  one  of  her  hands  in  hers  and 
prayed  for  her.  Then  she  prayed  for  the  unhappy  girl. 
Then  she  thought  of  the  letter  and  the  promise  she  had 
made.  Should  she  keep  her  promises  to  the  dying  wom 
an,  and  thus  be  a  party  to  the  wronging  of  this  poor  girl? 

"Mrs.  Putnam!  Mrs.  Putnam!!  Aunt  Heppy!!!"  she 
cried;  "take  back  your  fortune,  I  do  not  want  it;  only  re 
lease  me  from  my  oath.  Oh,  that  I  could  send  for  that 
letter  and  put  it  back  into  her  hands  before  she  dies!  If 
Mr.  Sawyer  were  only  here;  but  I  do  not  know  where  to 
find  him." 

For  hours,  it  seemed  ages  to  Alice,  she  remained  by  the 
bedside  of  the  dying  woman,  seeing  nothing,  but  listening 
intently,  and  hoping  that  she  would  revive,  hear  her  words, 
and  release  her  from  that  horrid  oath. 

Suddenly,  Alice  started;  the  poor  old  wrinkled,  wasted 
hand  that  she  held  in  hers,  was  cold — so  cold — she  leaned 
over  and  put  her  ear  above  the  old  woman's  lips.  There 
was  no  sound  of  breathing.  She  pulled  down  the  bed 
clothes  and  placed  her  hand  upon  her  heart.  It  was  still. 


AN   INHERITANCE.  i'43 

Mrs.  Putnam  had  gone  to  meet  the  boy  she  ha.^  ov.x  and 
lost. 

Feeling  her  way  along  the  wall,  she  reached  the  door, 
Flinging  it  wide  open,  she  cried,  "'Samantha!  LmdyT* 

Samanthy  came  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs. 

"What  is  it,  Miss  Pettengill?"  asked  she. 

"She's  dead,"  said  Alice,  and  she  sank  down  upon  At 
stairway. 

Samanthy  ran  quickly  upstairs.  She  went  first  to  Miss 
Lindy 's  room  and  told  her  that  all  was  over;  then  she 
came  back,  went  into  Mrs.  Putnam's  room,  pulled  down 
the  curtains,  went  to  the  bed  and  laid  the  sheet  ovt>r  Mrs, 
Putnam's  face.  She  looked  at  the  fire  to  see  that  it  was 
safe,  came  out  and  closed  the  door.  Then  she  helped 
Alice  down  stairs,  led  her  into  the  parlor  and  seated  her  in 
an  easy-chair. 

"I'll  bring  you  a  nice  cup  of  hot  tea,"  said  she;  "I've 
just  made  some  for  dinner." 

Lindy  came  down  stairs  and  went  to  the  front  door. 
Hiram  was  there,  smoking  a  cigar,  and  beating  his  arms  to 
keep  warm.  He  had  been  waiting  outside  for  a  couple 
of  hours,  and  he  was  nearly  frozen. 

"Mr.  Maxwell,"  said  Lindy;  and  Hiram  came  up  the 
steps.  "Mrs.  Putnam  is  dead,"  said  she.  "She  expired 
just  a  few  moments  ago,  about  one  o'clock,"  she  continued, 
looking  at  her  watch.  "I  want  you  to  go  right  down  to 
Mrs.  Hawkins's  and  bring  Betsy  Green  back  to  stay  with 
her  sister;  then  tell  Mr.  Stiles  to  come  up  at  once  with  the 
buggy  and  a  wagon  to  carry  my  trunks  to  the  station.  Tell 
Mr.  Stiles  I  am  going  to  Boston  on  the  next  train.  When 
you  come  back  you  can  take  M'iss  Pettengill  home.  She 
will  be  through  her  lunch  by  the  time  you  get  back.  After 
you've  taken  her  home,  I  want  you  to  go  and  get  Mrs. 
Pinkham,  the  nurse;  tell  her  Mrs.  Putnam  is  dead,  and 
that  I  want  her  to  come  and  lav  her  out.  Then  drive  over 
to  Montrose  and  tell  Mr.  Tilton,  the  undertaker,,  that  K 


344  QUIKCY  ADAMS  SAWYER. 

want  him  to  make  all  the  arrangements  for  the  funeral 
And  take  this  for  your  trouble,"  said  she,  as  she  passed 
him  a  five  dollar  bill. 

"Oh,  that's  too  much,"  cried  Hiram,  drawing1  back. 

"Take  it,"  said  Lindy,  with  a  smile;  "I  have  plenty  more 
• — more  than  I  need — more  than  I  know  what  to  do  with." 

As  Hiram  drove  off  he  said  to  himself,  "Lucky  girl;  she's 
mighty  putty,  too.  I  wonder  that  city  feller  didn't  shine 
up  to  her.  I  s'pose  she's  comin'  back  to  the  funeral." 

As  Lindy  turned  to  go  upstairs  she  looked  into  the  par 
lor,  and  saw  Alice  sitting  with  her  head  'bowed  upon  her 
hand.  Her  first  impulse  was  to  go  in  and  try  to  justify  her 
self  in  the  eyes  of  this  girl,  with  whom  she  knew  that  Mr. 
Sawyer  was  in  love;  but  no,  she  was  'but  a  waif,  with  no 
name,  no  birthright,  no  heritage;  that  woman  had  cut  her 
off  from  her  people.  Truly,  she  had  avenged  her  fancied 
wrongs. 

So  Lindy  went  upstairs  to  her  room,  and  remained  there 
until  after  Alice  went  home. 

When  Abner  Stiles  returned  from  Eastborough,  after 
having  seen  Lindy  Putnam  and  all  her  belongings  safe  on 
board  the  Boston  train,  he  stopped  at  the  Putnam  house 
to  see  if  he  could  be  of  any  further  service.  Mrs.  Pink- 
ham  had  arrived  some  time  before,  and  had  attended  to 
those  duties  which  she  had  performed  for  many  years  for 
both  the  young  and  old  of  Mason's  Corner,  who  had  been 
called  to  their  long  home.  Mr.  Tilton,  the  undertake!* 
from  M'ontrose,  had  come  over  immediately,  and  had  given 
the  necessary  professional  service  which  such  sad  occa 
sions  demand.  Mrs.  Pinkham  called  to  Mr.  Tilton,  and 
he  came  to  the  door. 

"No;  there  is  really  nothing-  you  can  do,  Mr.  Stiles,  un 
less  you  will  be  so  kind  as  to  drive  around  to  Deacon 
Mason's,  Mr.  Pettengill's,  and  Mrs.  Hawkins's,  and  inform 
them  that  the  funeral  will  be  from  the  church,  at  two 


AN  INHERITANCE.  845 

o^clock  Friday  afternoon.  I  will  see  that  you  are  paid 
for  your  services." 

Undertakers  are  naturally  polite  and  courteous  men. 
They  step  softly,  speak  low,  and  are  even-tempered.  Their 
patrons  do  not  worry  them  with  questions,  nor  antagonize 
their  views  of  the  fitness  of  things. 

When  Abner  reached  his  boarding  house,  after  making 
his  numerous  calls,  it  was  about  five  o'clock;  as  he  went  up 
stairs  he  noticed  that  the  door  of  Strout's  room  was  ajar. 
In  response  to  his  knock,  the  Professor  said,  "Come  in." 

"Wall,  how  do  find  things?"  said  Abner,  as  he  entered 
the  room. 

"By  lookin'  for  'em,"  said  the  Professor,  with  a  jaunty 
air. 

"Oh,  yer  know  what  I  mean,"  said  Abner,  throwing  him 
self  into  a  chair  and  looking  inquiringly  at  Strout. 
"What  was  goin'  on  this  noon  'tween  you  and  that  city 
feller?" 

"Well,  you  see,"  continued  Strout,  "Mr.  Sawyer  and  me 
have  been  at  swords'  points  the  las'  two  months  over  some 
pussonal  matters.  Well,  he  kinder  wanted  to  fix  up  things, 
but  he  knew  I  wouldn't  consent  to  let  up  on  him  'less  he 
treated  me  square;  so  I  gets  a  third  interest  in  the  grocery 
store,  the  firm  name  is  to  be  Strout  &  Maxwell,  and  I'm  to 
be  postmaster;  so,  you  see,  I  got  the  best  end  after  all,  jest 
as  I  meant  to  from  the  fust.  But,  see  here,  Stiles,  Mr. 
Sawyer  and  I  have  agreed  to  keep  our  business  and  our 
jttissonal  matters  strictly  private  in  the  futer,  and  you 
mustn't  drop  a  word  of  what  I've  told  yer  to  any  ':vins> 
soul." 

"I've  carried  a  good  many  of  yer  secrets  'round  with 
sne,"  responded  Abner,  "anc  never  dropped  one  of  'em, 
as  far  as  I  know." 

"Oh,  yer  all  right,  old  <man,"said  the  Professor:  "but, 
know,  for  the  last  two  months  our  game  has  been  td 


346  QUINCY  ADAMS  SAWYER. 

keep  talkin';  now  it  will  pay  us  best  to  keep  our  mouths 
shet." 

"Mine's  shut,"  said  Abner;  "now,  what  do  I  git?  That 
job  in  the  grocery  store  that  you  promised  me?" 

"Well,  you  see,"  said  Strout,  "when  I  made  yer  that 
promise,  I  expected  to  own  the  whole  store,  but  now,  yer 
see,  Maxwell  will  want  ter  pick  one  of  the  men." 

"Yis,  I  see,"  said  Abner;  "but  that  leaves  one  fer  you  to 
pick,  and  I'm  ready  to  be  picked." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  answered  Strout;  "but  the  work  is  goin 
to  be  very  hard,  liftin'  barrels  and  big  boxes,  and  I'm  afraid 
you  couldn't  stand  it  very  long." 

A  disappointed  look  came  over  Abner's  face;  he  mused 
for  a  moment,  then  he  broke  out,  "Yes,  I  see;  I'm  all  right 
for  light  work,  sech  as  telli/SF  lies  'bout  people  and  spyin' 
out  their  actions,  and  makin'  believe  I've  seen  things  tha*  I 
never  heard  of,  and  hearin'  things  that  were  never  said; 
but  when  it  comes  to  good,  clean,  honest  work,  like  lif^n* 
barrels  and  rollin'  hogsheads,  the  other  feller  gets  the  job. 
All  right,  Professor!"  said  he,  getting  up  and  walking  tow 
ards  the  door;  "when  you  want  any  thin'  in  my  line,  let  me 
know."  And  he  went  out  and  slammed  the  door  behind 
him. 

As  he  went  upstairs  to  his  room,  he  said  to  himself,  "I 
have  sorter  .got  the  opinion  that  the  Professor  took  what 
wuz  given  him,  instid  of  gittin'  what  he  asked  fer.  I  kinder 
guess  that  it'll  pay  me  to  be  much  more  partickler  about 
number  one  in  the  futer  than  I've  been." 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

AUNT  ELLA. 

kEACON  MASON  had  an  early  caller  Wednesday 
morning.  He  was  out  in  the  barn  polishing  up  his 
silver-plated  harness,  for  he  was  going  to  the  funeral 
on  Friday  with  his  family.  Hiram  had  given  him  notice 
that  he  would  have  to  go  up  to  the  store  at  once.  The 
Deacon  didn't  have  anybody  in  mind  to  take  Hiram's  place, 
and  thought  he  might  as  well  get  used  to  doing  his  own 
work  until  he  came  across  the  right  party. 

He  heard  a  voice.  It  said,  "Good  mornin',  Deacon 
Mason;"  and,  looking  up,  he  saw  Abner  Stiles  standing 
before  him. 

"Good  mornin',  Abner,"  answered  the  Deacon,  pleas 
antly;  "what  does  the  Professor  want?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Abner;  "I  heerd  that  Hiram  was 
goin'  to  leave  yer,  so  I  came  'round  to  see  if  yer  wanted  ter 
hire  a  man." 

"Do  yer  know  of  one?"  asked  the  Deacon  with  a  smile. 

"That's  all  right,  Deacon,"  said  Abner.  "I  don't  blame 
yer  fer  havin'  yer  little  joke.  I've  worked  so  long  fer  the 
Professor  that  I  expect  to  have  it  flung  up  at  me.  But  I've,, 
renounced  the  Evil  One  and  all  his  wicked  ways,  and  P 
want  to  be  taken  into  a  good  Christian  home,  and  even- 
tooally  jine  the  church." 

"While  the  lamp  holds  out  to  burn, 
The  vilest  sinner  may  return," 

quoted  the  Deacon,  as  he  hung  up  one  piece  of  harness 
and  took  down  another. 


348  QTJINCY  ADAMS  SAWTEK. 

"That's  true  as  Gospel,"  said  Abner ;  "and  I  hope  you'll 
see  it's  your  duty,  as  I've  heerd  Parson  Howe  say,  to  save 
the  brand  from  the  burnin'." 

"Well,  you  go  in  and  talk  to  Mrs.  Mason,"  said  the  Dea 
con;  "she's  the  one  that  wants  the  work  done,  and  if  she's 
.satisfied  to  give  yer  a  trial,  it's  all  the  same  to  me." 
i  "Thank  yer,  Deacon,"  answered  Abner.  "There's  one 
p'int  in  my  favor,  Deacon;  I  hain't  got  no  girl,  and  I  sha'n't 
take  any  of  your  time  to  go  courtin';"  and  with  this  sly 
dig  at  Hiram,  he  went  in  to  settle  his  fate  with  the  Dea 
con's  wife. 

On  that  same  Wednesday  morning  all  of  the  Pettengill 
family  were  together  at  the  breakfast  table.  The  con 
versation  naturally  turned  to  Mrs.  Putnam's  death,  and 
Ezekiel  remarked  "that  she  was  a  nice  old  lady,  and  that 
she  and  his  mother  were  great  friends.  It  beats  all,"  con 
tinued  he,  "the  way  Lindy  has  acted.  Abner  Stiles  told  me 
that  she  took  the  half-past  three  train  to  Boston,  and  he 
said  Bob  Wood  took  over  an  express  wagon  full  of  trunks. 
Samanthy  Green  told  Stiles  that  Lindy  hadn't  left  a  single 
thing  in  the  house  that  belonged  to  her,  and  it  don't  look  as 
though  she  was  comin'  back  to  the  funeral." 

During  this  recital,  Alice  listened  intently.  She  flushed 
then  grew  pale,  and  finally  burst  into  tears.  All  present, 
of  course,  attributed  her  agitation  to  her  well  known  love 
for  Mrs.  Putnam. 

"Shall  I  go  upstairs  with  you,  Sis?"  asked  Ezekiel. 

"No,"  said  Alice,  drying  her  eyes,  "I'm  going  into  the 
parlor.  I  told  Mand'y  to  build  a  fire  there,  and  I  want  you 
and  Uncle  Ike  and  Mr.  Sawyer  to  come  with  me." 

When  they  were  gathered  in  the  parlor,  Alice  began  her 
story.  Every  word  said  by  the  dead  woman  had  burned 
itself  deep  into  her  memory,  and  from  the  time  she  entered 
the  sick  room  until  she  fell  exhausted  upon  the  stairway, 
after  calling  loudly  for  Samanthy  and  Lindy,  not  a  word 
was  missing  from  the  thrilling  narrative.  Her  audience. 


AUNT  ELLA.  148 

including  even  Quincy,  listened  intently  to  the  dramatic 
ally  told  story,  and  they  could  almost  see  the  frenzied  face, 
the  pointed  finger,  and  hear  the  wild,  mocking  laugh. 

For  a  few  moments  nothing  was  said.  Finally,  Ezekiel 
broke  the  silence. 

"Well,  I  guess,"  said  he,  "that  will  of  her'n  will  stand, 
all  right.  Lindy's  got  enough  of  her  own;  she  won't  be 
likely  to  interfere;  and  I  never  he'rd  of  their  havin'  any 
other  relatives.'' 

Then  Uncle  Ike  spoke  up.  "I  shall  go  to  the  funeral,  of 
course,  next  Friday,  and  I  shall  expect  to  'hear  the  Rev. 
Mr.  Howe  stand  up  in  his  pulpit  and  tell  us  what  a  good 
Christian  woman  Hepsy  was;  she  was  so  kind  and  so  be 
nevolent,  and  so  regardful  of  the  feelings  of  others,  and  it 
wouldn't  make  a  bit  of  difference  if  you  went  and  told  him 
what  you've  told  us,  Alice;  he'd  say  just  the  same  thing.'* 

"Oh,  hush!  Uncle  Ike,"  cried  Alice,  pleadingly;  "she  was 
y,  good  woman,  excepting  on  that  one  point,  and  you  must 
own  that  she  had  some  provocation.  Let  me  ask  you  a 
question,  Uncle  Ike.  How  far  should  promises  made  to 
the  dead  be  kept?'' 

"Just  so  far,"  replied  Uncle  Ike,  "as  they  do  not  inter 
fere  with  the  just  rights  of  the  living.  Where  is  that  letter 
that  she  wanted  you  to  destroy?"  he  asked. 

"Here  it  is,"  said  Alice,  and  she  took  it  from  the  bosom 
of  her  dress. 

"Well,"  said  Uncle  Ike,  "if  I  were  in  your  place  I'd 
open  that  letter,  read  it,  and  if  it  was  likely  to  be  of  any 
value  to  Miss  Putnam  in  finding  her  parents  or  relatives, 
I'd  hunt  her  up  and  give  it  to  her.  Mrs.  Putnam  owned  up 
that  she  lied  about  it,  and  the  whole  thing,  any  way,  may 
be  a  bluff.  Perhaps  it's  only  blank  paper,  after  all." 

"No,"  said  Alice,  "I  could  never  open  it  or  read  it.  I 
laid  awake  all  night,  thinking  about  my  promise,  and  I 
finally  made  up  my  mind  that  I  would  go  to  see  Lindy  this 
morning,  and  let  her  read  it;  but  now  she  has  gone  away, 


S50  QUINCY  ADAMS  SAWYER. 

and  we  do  not  know  where  to  find  her.  What  shall  I  do 
with  this  dreadful  thing?"  she  cried,  as  she  held  the  letter 
up  in  her  hand. 

Quincy  felt  called  upon  to  speak. 

"Miss  Pettengill,"  said  he,  "I  think  I  could  find  Miss 
i Putnam  for  you.''  A  slight  flush  arose  to  Alice's  cheek 
[which  did  not  escape  Quincy's  notice.  He  continued, 
"When  I  went  to  Boston,  last  Saturday,  I  happened  to 
meet  her  on  the  train.  She  told  me  then  something  of  her 
story,  and  said  she  was  going  to  leave  the  house  forever,  as 
soon  as  Mrs.  Putnam  died.  She  also  told  me  that  if  I  ever 
learned  anything  about  her  parents  I  could  reach  her  by 
advertising  in  the  Personal  Column  of  the  New  York 
'Herald,'  addressing  'Linda,'  and  signing  it  'Eastborough.'  " 

"And  will  you  do  this  at  once  for  me?"  cried  Alice, 
eagerly.  "I  am  so  thankful;  you  have  taken  such  a  load 
from  my  mind,  Mr.  Sawyer.  How  fortunate  it  was  that  you 
met  her  as  you  did!'' 

"I  think  Mr.  Sawyer  is  about  as  lucky  as  they  make 
'em,"  remarked  Uncle  Ike,  with  a  laugh. 

"Kind  fortune  owes  me  one  or  two  favors  yet  before  I 
shall  be  entirely  satisfied,"  said  Quincy.  "Now,  Miss  Pet 
tengill,  will  you  allow  me  to  make  a  suggestion  that  will 
free  you  from  the  further  care  of  this  document?" 

"I  don't  care  what  is  done  with  it,"  said  Alice;  "but  no 
one  but  Lindy  must  read  it." 

"That  is  my  idea  exactly,"  assented  Quincy.  "I  will  go 
to  Boston  on  the  noon  train  and  send  that  advertisement 
to  the  New  York  'Herald.'  With  your  permission,  I  will 
turn  that  document  over  to  a  legal  friend  of  mine.  He  will 
put  it  in  an  envelope  and  seal  it  up.  He  will  write  on  the 
outside,  "To  be  delivered  only  to  Miss  Putnam,  on  the 
written  order  of  Miss  Alice  Pettengill,'  and  it  will  repose 
quietly  in  his  big  safe  until  Miss  Putnam  is  found." 

"That  will  do  splendidly!"  said  Alice,  with  animation. 


ATJNT  ELLA.  351 

"What  magicians  you  lawyers  are!  You  discover  a  way 
out  of  every  difficulty." 

"Wait  until  you  get  one  of  those  lawyers  working 
against  you,"  remarked  Uncle  Ike,  "then  you'll  change 
your  mind.  Well,  I  s'pose  now  this  matter's  settled,  I  can 
go  upstairs  and  have  my  morning  smoke.'' 

"And  I've  got  to  go  to  the  store,"  said  Ezekiel  to  Uncle 
Ike,  "and  get  some  corn,  or  those  chickens  of  your'n  will' 
swaller  the  hen  coop."  And  both  men  left  the  room  to 
gether. 

"If  you  can  give  me  a  little  of  your  time,  Miss  Petten- 
gill,"  said  Quincy,  "I  have  some  news  for  you  that  I  think 
will  please  you  very  much." 

"About  my  stories?"  cried  Alice. 

"Yes,"  replied  Quincy.  "Just  before  I  went  to  Boston 
last  Saturday  I  got  a  letter  from  Leopold,  asking  me  to  call 
on  him  as  soon  as  convenient.  I  found  him  at  home  Sun 
day  evening,  and  this  is  what  he  said.  The  New  York 
house  has  accepted  your  series  of  eight  detective  stories, 
and  will  pay  you  twenty-five  dollars  for  each  of  them.  The 
house  will  send  you  a  check  from  time  to  time,  as  they  pub 
lish  them.  Leopold  has  accepted  your  long  story  for  the 
magazine  published  by  the  house  for  which  he  is  reader. 
He  says  Jameson  will  get  your  other  story  into  one  of  the 
Sunday  papers,  and  he  will  have  his  dramatic  version  ready 
for  production  next  fall.  He  can't  tell  how  much  you  will 
make  out  of  these  just  yet;  the  magazine  pays  by  the  page 
and  the  newspaper  by  the  column,  and,  of  course,  Jame 
son  will  give  you  part  of  his  royalty,  if  he  gets  the  play 
on." 

''Why,  Mr.  Sawyer,  you  are  showering  wealth  upoi*  me 
like  another  Count  of  Monte  Cristo." 

"But  you  have  not  heard  all,"  continued  Quincy.  "Leo 
pold  has  placed  your  two  songs  with  a  music  publishing 
house,  and  you  will  get  a  royalty  on  them  in  time.  He  says 
they  don't  pay  any  royalty  on  the  first  three  hundred 


802  QUmCY   ADAMS    SAWYEit. 

copies,  and  perhaps  they  won't  sell;  the  public  taste  on 
sheet  music  is  very  fickle.  Then,  that  composer,  I  can 
never  remember  his  name,  is  at  work  on  your  poem,  'The 
Lord  of  the  Sea.'  He  told  Leopold  he  was  going  to  make 
it  his  opus  wte,  the  work  of  his  life,  you  know,  and  he  is 
talking  it  up  to  the  director  of  the  Handel  and  Haydn 
Society." 

"How  true  it  is,"  said  Alice,  "that  gladness  qaickly  fol 
lows  sadness!  I  was  so  unhappy  this  morning,  but  now  the 
world  never  looked  so  bright  to  me.  You  have  brushed 
away  all  my  sorrows,  Mr.  Sawyer,  and  I  am  really  very 
happy  to  hear  the  good  news  that  you  have  told  me." 

'There  is  one  sorrow  that  I  have  not  yet  relieved  you 
of,"  continued  Quincy. 

"And  that?"  asked  Alice,  brushing  back  the  wavy  golden 
hair  from  her  forehead,  and  looking  up  at  him  with  her 
bright  blue  eyes,  which  bore  no  outward  sign  of  the  dark 
cloud  that  dimmed  their  vision, — "and  that  is?" — she  re 
peated. 

"That  letter,"  taking  the  hand  that  held  it  in  both  cf  his 
own.  "If  I  am  to  get  that  noon  train  I  have  no  time  to 
lose.'1 

"Before  you1  take  it,"  said  Alice,  "you  must  promise  me 
that  it  shall  not  be  opened,  and  no  eye  but  Lindy's  must 
ever  rest  upon  it." 

"You  have  my  word,"  he  replied. 

"Then  take  it"  said  she;  and  she  released  her  hold  upon 
it. 

He  took  the  letter  with  one  hand,  his  other  hand  still 
retaining  its  grasp  upon  hers. 

"I  go,"  said  Quincy,  assuming  a  bantering  tone,  "upon 
your  quest,  fair  lady.  If  I  return  victorious,  what  shall  be 
my  reward?" 

"Gallant  knights,"  said  Alice,  as  she  withdrew  her  hand 
from  his,  "do  not  bargain  for  their  reward  until  they  have 
fulfilled  their  trust" 


AUNT  ELLA.  833 

"I  accept  the  reproof,"  said  Quincy  gravely. 

"It  was  not  so  intended,  Sir  Knight,"  responded  Alice 
brightly ;  "so  I  will  make  amends  by  answering  your  query. 
If  you  return  successful,  tell  me  what  you  would  prize  the 
most,  and  even  if  it  be  half  my  kingdom,  it  shall  be  yours." 

"I  am  content,  but  modern  locomotives  do  not  wait  even 
for  gallant  knights  of  old.  So  adieu." 

He  quitted  the  room,  and1  Alice  stood  where  he  had  left 
her  until  she  heard  the  rumble  of  wheels  as  he  drove  off  for 
the  station ;  then  she  found  her  way  to  her  chair  before  the 
fire,  and  her  mind  wove  the  outline  of  a  romantic  story,  in 
which  there  was  a  gallant  knight  and  a  lovely  maiden.  But 
in  her  story  the  prize  that  the  knight  asked  when  he  re 
turned  successful  from  his  quest  was  the  heart  and  hand  of 
the  lovely  maiden. 

Jim  Cobb  went  over  to  Eastborough  Centre,  so  as  to 
drive  the  team  back.  Before  going  to  the  station,  Quincy 
stepped  into  the  post  office  and  found  a  letter  addressed  to 
him  in  a  peculiar,  but  familiar,  handwriting. 

"From  Aunt  Ella,"  he  said.  "I  will  read  it  after  I  get  on 
the  train." 

Quincy's  Aunt  Ella  was  Mrs.  Robert  Chessman,  his 
mother's  widowed  sister. 

As  soon  as  the  train  started  Quincy  opened  his  letter.  It 
was  short  and.  to  the  point. 

"Mr  DEAR  QUINCY: — Maude  gave  me  your  address. 
What  are  you  doing  in  a  miserable,  little  country  town  in 
the  winter?  They  are  bad  enough  in  the  summer,  but  iiu 
March! — >Bah!  Come  and  see  me  at  once,  you  naughty 
boy!  AUNT  ELLA." 

^Dated  yesterday,"  said  Quincy;  "how  fortunate.  I  will 
go  up  to  Mt.  Vernon  Street  to-morrow  noon  and  take 
lunch  with  her." 

When  Quincy  reached  Boston  he  went  directly  to  his 


854  QUINCY    ADAMS    SAWYER. 

father's  office.  The  Hon.  Mr.  Sawyer  was  not  present,  but 
his  partners,  Mr.  Franklin  Crowninshield  and  Mr.  Ather- 
ton  Lawrence,  were  busily  engaged.  Quincy  took  a  seat  at 
the  desk  which  he  had  occupied  before  going  to  Eastbor- 
ough,  and  wrote  out  his  advertisement  for  the  New  York 
"Herald.''  It  read  as  follows:  "Linda.  Important  paper 
discovered;  communicate  at  once  with  Q.  A.  S.,  Eastbor- 
ough." 

He  enclosed  a  check  to  cover  a  fortnight's  insertion? 
then  walked  down  State  Street  to  the  post  office  to  mail  his 
letter.  When  he  returned,  Mr.  Lawrence  informed  him. 
that  his  father  was  in  his  private  office.  His  father  greeted 
him  pleasantly,  but  not  effusively;  in  fact,  any  marked  ex 
hibition  of  approval  or  disapproval  was  foreign  to  the  Saw 
yer  character,  while  the  Quincys  were  equally  notable  for 
their  reticence  and  imperturbability. 

"When  shall  we  have  the  pleasure  of  your  continued 
presence  at  home?"  asked  the  father. 

"To-night,"  replied  Quincy,  with  a  smile,  "I  shall  be  with 
you  at  dinner,  stay  all  night,  and  take  breakfast  with  you." 

"I  trust  your  long  visit  will  not  oblige  you  to  neglect 
other  more  important  matters,"  said  the  father. 

"Oh,  nO'I"  answered  Quincy.  "I  have  looked  out  for 
that." 

"And  when  do  you  think  your  health  will  allow  you  to 
resume  your  position  in  the  office?''  inquired  the  Hon. 
iNathaniel. 

"That  is  very  uncertain,"  replied  Quincy. 

"If  you  do  not  intend  to  come  back  at  all,"  continued 
the  father,  "that  would  simplify  matters.  I  could  then  make 
room  for  a  Harvard  graduate  to  study  with  us." 

Quincy  reflected.  He  had  been  taught  by  his  father  not 
to  give  a  positive  answer  to  any  question  on  the  spur  of  the 
moment,  if  more  time  could  be  taken,  as  well  as  not,  for 
consideration.  So,  after  a  few  moments  of  thought,  Quincy 


AUNT  ELLA.  365 

said,  "I  will  write  you  in  the  course  of  ten  days  or  a  fort 
night,  and  give  you  a  positive  answer." 

"That  will  be  entirely  satisfactory,"  answered  his  father. 
"As  you  are  going  out,  will  you  kindly  tell  Mr.  Crownin* 
shield  that  I  wish  to  consult  with  him?'' 

Quincy  knew  that  the  interview  had  expired  by  limita 
tion.  He  went  home,  but  found  that  his  mother  and  sisters 
were  out  riding. 

"They  will  return  in  time  for  dinner,"  said  Delia,  the 
parlor  maid., 

Quincy  went  into  the  parlor  and  opened  the  grand  piano. 
He  sat  down  before  it,  touched  a  few  of  the  keys  casually, 
then  sang,  with  great  expression,  the  song  by  J.  R.  Thomas 
entitled  "Pleasant  Memories.''  He  next  wandered  into  the 
library,  and  took  down  and  glanced  at  several  books  that 
he  had  devoured  with  avidity  when  a  boy  of  sixteen.  Then 
he  went  upstairs  to  his  own  room,  which  he  had  occupied 
since  he  was  eight  years  old.  It  looked  familiar,  every 
thing  was  in  its  accustomed  place;  still,  the  room  did  not 
look  homelike.  Strange  as  it  may  seem,  Quincy  had  been 
happier  in  the  large  west  chamber,  with  its  old-fashioned 
bureau  and  carpet  and  bed,  than  he  had  ever  been  in  this 
handsomely  furnished  apartment  in  the  Beacon  Street 
mansion.  There  was  no  wide  fireplace  here,  with  ruddy 
embers,  into  whose  burning  face  he  could  look  and  weave 
fanciful  dreams  of  the  fortune  and  happiness  to  be  his  in 
the  future. 

He  spent  a  pleasant  evening  with  the  family.  His  father 
was  present,  but  passed  the  time  in  reading  the  newspapers 
and  a  legal  brief  that  he  wished  to  more  closely  examine. 
His  mother  was  engrossed  in  a  new  novel,  but  no  approving 
smile  or  sympathetic  tear  demonstrated  any  particular  in 
terest  in  the  fates  of  the  struggling  hero  or  suffering 
heroine. 

Florence  sat  at  the  piano,  and,  in  response  to  Quincy's 
request  that  she  would  give  him  some  music,  played 


gid  QUttfCY  ADAMS   SAWYER, 

some  chromatic  scales  and  arpeggios.  He  declared  that 
they  reminded  him  of  grand  opera,  which  remark  sent 
Maude  into  a  fit  of  satirical  laughter,  and  Florence  up  to 
her  room  in  a  pout. 

Then  Maude  fell  to  asking  Quincy  questions  about  him 
self,  to  which  he  returned  evasive  and  untruthful  answers, 
until  she  was,  as  she  said,  completely  disgusted.  Then  she 
dropped  her  head  upon  his  shoulder,  and  with  the  arms  of 
the  brother  whom  she  dearly  loved  clasped  around  her,  she 
went  to  sleep.  He  looked  at  the  sweet  girlish  face  and 
thought,  not  of  her,  but  of  Alice. 

Next  morning  he  was  up  early,  for  he  knew  that  a  busy 
day  was  before  him.  The  last  thing  before  retiring,  and 
the  first  thing  upon  getting  up,  he  examined  his  inside 
vest  pocket,  to  see  if  that  precious  letter,  that  priceless  trust 
that  he  had  given  his  knightly  word  to  deliver,  was  safe. 
_  He  breakfasted  early,  and  eight  o'clock  found  him  in 
Bowdoin  Square,  at  the  corner  of  Green  and)  Chardon 
Streets.  His  first  visit  was  to  a  safe  manufactory,  a  few 
doors  from  the  corner,  where  he  purchased  one  for  the 
firm  of  Strout  &  Maxwell. 

After  traversing  both  sides  of  Friend  Street,  he  finally 
settled  upon  two  horses,  stout  country  roadsters,  and  left 
an  order  for  their  shipment  to  Eastborough  Centre,  when 
they  were  notified  that  the  wagons  were  ready.  He  bought 
the  wagons  in  Sudbury  Street.  They  had  red  bodies  and 
yellow  wheels,  and  the  words,  "Strout  &  Maxwell,  Mason's 
Corner,  Mass.,"  were  to  be  placed  on  them  in  gold  letters. 

These  tasks  completed,  Quincy  walked  up  Tremont  Row 
by  Scollay's  Building.  Crossing  Pemberton  Square,  he 
continued  up  Tremont  Street  until  he  came  to  the  building 
in  which  was  the  law  office  of  Curtis  Carter,  one  of  his  law 
school  chums. 

"Hello,  Curt !"  said  he,  as  he  entered  the  somewhat  dingy 
office. 

"Well,  ?pon  honor,  Quincy,"  cried  Curtis,  "the  sight  of 


AUNT  ELLA.  857 

you  is  good  for  sore  eyes,  and  I've  got  such  a  beastly  cold 
that  I  can't  see  with  one  eye  and  can't  read  with  the  other." 

"Well,"  said  Quincy,  "I  came  in  here  intending  to  con 
sult  you  professionally,  but  I  don't  think  a  blind  lawyer 
will  answer  my  purpose." 

"Oh,  I  shall  be  all  right  in  a  few  minutes,"  replied  Cur 
tis.  "I  dropped  into  Young's  as  I  came  up  and  took  an 
eye-opener.  What's  the  matter,  old  fellow,  breach  of 


promise 


Quincy  took  a  seat  near  Curtis's  desk. 

"No/'  said  he,  "it's  a  case  of  animosity  carried  beyond 
the  grave/' 

"Oh!  I  see,"  said  Curtis,  "party  cut  off  with  a  shilling, 
going  to  try  and  break  the  will?" 

"Have  a  cigar?"  asked  Quincy.  "While  you  are  light- 
ing  it  and  getting  it  under  way  I  may  slide  in  and  get  a 
chance  to  state  my  business." 

"Oh!  you  want  to  do  the  talking?"  said  Curtis  good 
humoredly.  "Well,  go  ahead,  old  man;"  and  he  leaned 
back  and  smoked  complacently. 

Quincy  then  related  as  much  as  he  thought  necessary  of 
the  story  of  the  sealed  letter,  and  as  he  concluded  he  took 
the  package  from  his  pocket  and  placed  it  on  the  corner  of 
the  lawyer's  desk. 

"You  are  doing  just  right,"  said  Curtis;  "the  probate 
judges  nowadays  are  looking  more  carefully  at  wills,  espec 
ially  when  their  provisions  indicate  that  the  signer  was 
more  red  Indian  than  white  Christian.  I  understand  you 
perfectly,"  he  continued;  "what  you  wish  me  to  do  is  to 
put  this  letter  in  an  envelope,  seal  it  securely,  and  endorse 
upon  it  these  words,  'To  be  delivered  only  to  Miss  Lindy 
Putnam  upon  the  written  order  of  Miss  Alice  Pettengill.' " 

"That's  it  exactly,"  said  Quincy;  "only  I  wish  a  receipt 
from  you  for  the  document." 

"Certainly,"  replied  Curtis.  As  he  raised  the  lid  of  his 
old-fashioned  desk  the  letter  fell  to  the  floor-  The  envel- 


358  QUINCY   ADAMS   SAWYER. 

ope  had  received  rough  treatment  in  its  progress  from 
ha;  i  to  hand,  and  it  was  not  strange  that  when  it  struck 
the  floor  one  corner  was  split  open  by  ih?,  fall. 

As  Quincy  stooped  to  pick  it  up,  he  noticed  that  some- 
tb'ng  that  resembled  a  small  piece  of  white  cloth  dropped) 
fj  jm  the  broken  corner  of  the  envelope.  When  he  picked 
i'j?  np  to  replace  it,  he  saw  that  it  was  a  small  piece  of  white 
r.otton  cloth,  and  his  quick  eye  caught  the  name  "Linda 
.'Fernborough"  stamped  thereon  with  indelible  ink.  He 
Eaid  nothing,  but  replacing  the  piece  of  cloth  passed  the 
package  to  Curtis,  who  enclosed,  sealed,  and  endorsed  it, 
md  gave  a  receipt  therefor  to  Quincy. 

"I  will  put  this  in  my  big  steel  vault,"  said  he,  as  he  went 
into  another  room. 

Quincy  knew  that  Curtis  would  accept  no  fee  for  such  a 
slight  service,  so  placing  a  five  dollar  greenback  under  a 
paperweight,  he  quietly  left  the  office  and  was  out  of  sight 
long  before  Curtis,  with  the  bill  in  his  hand,  ran  down  stairs, 
bareheaded,  and  looked  up  and  down  the  street  in  search 
of  him. 

Five  minutes  later  Quincy  reached  his  aunt's  house.  A 
"Buttons,"  dressed  in  blue  livery,  opened  the  door,  and 
Quincy  was  ushered  into  the  long  parlor,  which  ran  the 
full  depth  of  the  house,  some  sixty  feet,  in  which  he  had 
passed  many  pleasant  evenings.  He  sent  up  his  card,  and 
in  a  few  moments  Buttons  returned  and  delivered  the 
speech  which  Mrs.  Chessman  had  taught  him  and  which 
he  had  learned  by  heart:  "Mrs.  Chessman  desires  that 
•you  will  come  up  at  once." 

Quincy  bounded  upstairs,  to  the  evident  astonishment  of 
Buttons,  and  made  his  way  to  the  front  chamber,  which  he 
knew  was  his  aunt's  room.  She  loved  the  sunlight,  and  it 
was  a  constant  visitor  in  that  room,  summer  and  winter. 
His  aunt  did  not  greet  him  with  a  "how  do  you  do?"  and  a 
hand-shake.  Instead  of  such  a  formal  reception,  she  gave 
him  a  hearty  hug  and  kissed  him  three  times,  once  on  the 


AUNT  ELLAo  85* 

forehead,  then  on  the  cheek,  and  finally  on  the  lips,  in 
which  latter  osculation  Quincy  took  part. 

His  aunt  led  him  to  an  easy-chair,  then  threw  herself 
upon  a  lounge  opposite  to  him.  She  eyed  him  attentively 
for  a  moment. 

"Ouincy,"  said  she,  "you  are  better  looking  than  ever; 
you're  almost  as  good  looking  as  Robert  was,  and  he  was 
the  handsomest  man  I  ever  saw.  How  many  different 
country  girls  have  you  kissed  since  you  saw  me  last?'' 

"I  kept  the  count,"  said  Quincy,  "till  I  went  to  a  sur 
prise  party  a  week  ago  Monday,  and  then  I  lost  it." 

"Of  all  the  kisses  that  you  have  had,  whose  do  you  prize 
the  most?" 

"Those  from  my  beloved  Aunt  Ella,"  replied  Quincy. 

Aunt  Ella  smiled  and  said,  "You  know  how  to  keep  on 
the  right  side  of  an  old  woman  who  has  got  money." 

'"'I  didn't  think  of  that  until  you  called  my  attention  to  it  " 
said  Quincy  gravely. 

"And  I  didn't  believe  it  when  I  said  it,"  added  Aunt  Ellac 
A  few  moments  later  she  rang  and  ordered  a  light  lunch, 
\Vhen  this  was  over  she  went  to  an  old  secretary  with  brass 
handles,  opened  a  drawer,  and  took  out  a  cigar  box. 

"I  have  a  few  of  Robert's  cigars  left,5'  she  said. 

Quincy  took  one  and  resumed  his  seat  in  the  easy-chair. 

Aunt  Ella  opened  another  drawer  in  the  secretary  and 
took  out  a  pouch  of  tobacco,  a  package  of  rice  paper  and  a 
box  of  wax  tapers.  She  put  these  articles  on  a  small  dia 
mond-shaped  table  and  placed  the  table  between  Quincy 
ard  herself.  She  handed  Quincy  the  match-box,  then  deftly 
rolling  a  cigarette,  she  lighted  it,  leaned  back  upon  the 
lounge  and  blew  rings  of  smoke  into  the  air,  which  she 
watched  until  tHey  broke. 

"Do  you  think  it's  horribly  unbecoming  for  me  to 
smoke?"  she  asked,  looking  at  Quincy. 

"Do  you  wish  me  to  express  my  real  thoughts?"  replied 
Quincy,  "or  flatter  you  because  you  have  money?" 


800 

Aunt  Ella  reddened  a  little,  then  said,  "A  good  shot, 
Quincy,  but  I  deserve  it.  Go  on." 

"Well,  Aunt  Ella,"  said  he,  "you  are  the  only  woman 
whom  I  ever  saw  smoke  who,  in  niy  opinion,  knew  how  to 
do  it  gracefully." 

"I  think  you  are  sincere,"  she  rejoined,  "and  I  beg  par 
don  for  wounding  your  feelings  as  I  did  before.  Give  me 
your  hand  on  it.'* 

They  shook  hands  as  two  men  would  have  done  after  set 
tling  differences. 

Then  she  said,  "Now  dtaw  your  chair  up  closer,  Quincy, 
and  tell  me  what  you've  been  doing,  and  what  other  people 
have  been  doing  to  you  since  the  day  before  Christmas, 
the  last  time  I  set  eyes  on  you  until  to-day.  You  know  I 
am  your  mother  confessor.'' 

Quincy  complied,  and  in  his  quiet,  concise  way  gave  her 
a  full  account  of  his  doings  in  Eastborough,  omitting 
nothing,  concealing  nothing-.  If  anything,  he  gave  fuller 
details  of  his  acquaintance  with  Huldy,  Lindy,  and  Alice 
than  he  did  of  the  other  portions  of  his  story.  He  could 
not  forbear  to  give  at  full  length  the  account  of  his  final 
settlement  with  the  Professor. 

Aunt  Ella  laughed  heartily  at  some  parts  of  the  recital, 
and  looked  sorrowful  and  sympathetic  when  she  listened  to 
other  portions.  She  rolled  and  smoked  half  a  dozen  cigar 
ettes  during  its  continuance,  and  when  she  saw  that  Quincy 
had  finished  his  cigar  she  placed  the  remainder  of  the  box 
before  him. 

When  he  closed  she  said,  "Quincy,  you're  a  brick.  I 
haven't  enjoyed  myself  so  much  for  years.  I  do  so  love 
anything  that  isn't  commonplace,  and  your  experience  is 
both  novel  and  interesting.  What  a  dear  old  man  Deacon 
Mason  is,  and  Ezekiel  Pettengill  is  a  fine  young  fellow,  hon 
est  and  square.  That  Hiram  and  Mandy  must  be  a  team. 
Are  they  going  to  get  married?" 

"1  think  so,"  said  Quincy.     "He  stammers,  you  know,, 


AUNT  ELLA,  861 

and  I  think  he  is  afraid  he  will  break  down  when  he  tries 
to  propose." 

Aunt  Ella  laughed  heartily;  then  she  said,  "What  a  con 
stitutional  liar  that  Stiles  must  be,  and  as  for  the  Professor, 
I  would  like  to  have  a  set-to  with  him  myself.'' 

As  she  said  this  she  doubled  up  her  fists. 

"Oh,  he  wouldn't  .meet  you  that  way,"  said  Quincy.  "He 
only  fights  with  a  woman's  weapon,  his  tongue;"  and  he 
told  her  of  his  little  boxing  match  with  Robert  Wood. 

Aunt  Ella  continued:  "I  can  imagine  what  a  pretty, 
cweet,  little  country  girl  Huldy  Mason  is.  My  heart  aches 
for  Lindy,  her  martyrdom  has  been  out  of  all  proportion  to 
her  contemplated  wrongdoing,  if  wrongdoing  it  really  was. 
'Had  I  been  in  her  place  I  would  have  married  Jones  and 
left  my  clothes  behind;  and  then,"  said  Aunt  Ella,  "how 
my  heart  goes  out  to  that  dear,  sweet  girl  that  you  call 
Alice!  Do  you  love  her,  Quincy?" 

"Devotedly,"  answered  Quincy,  "I  never  really  loved  a 
woman  before." 

"Then  marry  her,"  cried  Aunt  Ella  decidedly. 

"Everybody  at  home  but  Maude  will  object,"  said 
Quincy. 

"Maude's  the  best  one  in  the  family,  next  to  yourself," 
snapped  Aunt  Ella. 

"They  will  bring  up  Uncle  Jim,"  continued  Quincy. 

<rNonsense!"  replied1  Aunt  Ella.  "Uncle  Jim  was  a 
fool;  any  man  is  a  fool  who  thinks  he  can  win  the  battle  of 
life  by  making  a  sot  of  himself.  Bring  this  girl  to  me, 
Quincy.  She  must  be  a  genius,  if  she  can  write  as  you  say 
she  can.  Let  me  care  for  her  and  love  her  and  make 
life  pleasant  and  beautiful  for  her  until  you  get  ready  to  do 
k  yourself." 

"I  will,  some  day,  Aunt  Ella.  You  are  the  best  friend 
I  have  in  the  world,  and  when  I  have  the  right  to  bring 
Alice  to  you,  I  will  lose  no  time  in  doing  so.  Thank  you 
for  your  kind  words  about  her.  I  shall  never  forget  them, 


and  she  shall  hear  them  some  day.    But  I  must  go  now.*" 

They  both  arose.  "Promise  that  you  will  come  and  see 
me  every  time  you  are  in  Boston,  Quincy;  if  you  don't,.  J 
shall  come  down  to  Eastborough  to  see  you/' 

She  gave  him  another  kiss  at  parting. 

As  he  left  the  house  he  deliberated  for  a  moment  as  to 
where  he  should  go  next.  It  was  half-past  four.  He  de 
cided  to  go  to  Leopold's  lodgings  in  Chestnut  Street.  He 
found  him  at  home,  but  for  a  wonder  he  was  net  working, 

"This  is  an  off  day  with  me/'  he  explained;  "this  is  our 
haying  season,  and  I've  been  working  nights,  days,  and 
Sundays  for  a  fortnight/' 

"I  came  to  express  Miss  Pettengill's  obligations  and 
thanks  for  your  kind  and  very  successful  efforts  in  her  be 
half." 

"Oh!  that's  all  right,"  said  Leopold.  "By  the  way,  have 
you  told  her  she  ought  to  write  a  book?" 

"Not  yet/'  said  Quincy;  "but  I'm  going  to  soon.  She 
has  just  lost  a  dear  friend;  but  I  won't  forget  it." 

"Don't!''  repeated  Leopold.  "She  is  a  diamond  that 
ought  to  be  dug  up,  cut,  and  set  in  eighteen  carat  gold. 
Excuse  my  apparently  brutal  language,  but  you  get  my 
meaning." 

"Certainly,"  said  Quincy;  **and  you  are  not  working  to-j 
day." 

"No/*  replied  Leopold;  "loafing  and  enjoying  it,  too. 
I've  a  good  mind  to  turn  vagrant  and  loaf  on,  loaf  ever/* 

"Come  down  to  Parker's  and  have  dinner  with  me." 

"Can't  do  it,"  replied  Leopold;  "my  stomach  is  loafing-, 
too.  Twouldn't  be  fair  to  make  it  work  and  do  nothing 
myself.  Just  as  much  obliged.  Some  other  day.  Don't 
forget  the  book,"  he  cried,  as  Quincy  left  the  room. 

Quincy  took  his  dinner  at  Parker's,  caught  the  five  min 
utes  past  six  express,  and  reached  Eastborough  Centre  at 
half-past  seven.  Abbott  Smith  drove  him  home  to  the 
Pettengill  house. 


AUNT  ELLA.  368 

The  next  day  was  Friday.  Everybody  at  Mason's  Cor 
ner,  with  quite  a  number  from  Eastborough  and  Montrose, 
came  to  Mrs.  Putnam's  funeral.  The  little  Square  in  front 
of  the  church,  as  well  as  the  shed,  was  filled  with  teams. 
While  waiting  for  the  arrival  of  the  body,  quite  a  number 
or  the  male  residents  of  Mason's  Comer  were  gathered 
upon  the  steps  of  the  church. 

Strout  spied  Abner  Stiles  and  approached  him.  "Bob 
Wood  has  jest  told  rne,"  said  the  Professor,  "that  he  has  de 
cided  not  to  leave  his  present  place,  so  I've  concluded  on 
second  thoughts  to  give  yer  that  job  at  the  grocery  store/' 

Abner's  eyes  twinkled. 

"I've  had  my  second  thoughts,  too,"  said  he,  "I've  hired 
out  to  Deacon  Mason  for  life,  and  if  I  jine  the  church  he 
says  I  can  work  for  him  in  the  next  world.  So  I  kinder 
guess  I  shall  have  to  decline  yer  kind  invitation  to  lift  boxes 
and  roll  barrels.5' 

When  the  services  were  over  every  person  in  the  church 
passed  up  the  centre  aisle  to  take  a  last  view.  Her  hus 
band  had  been  buried  in  the  Montrose  cemetery,  and  she 
had  told  Mr.  Tilton  that  she  was  to  be  laid  by  his  side.  The 
Eastborough  cemetery  was  in  West  Eastborough,  and  for 
that  reason  many  of  the  late  residents  of  Mason's  Corner 
slept  their  last  sleep  at  Montrose. 

As  they  stood  by  the  coffin,  Alice  said,  "How  does  stie 
look?" 

"Very  pleasant/'  replied  Quincy;  "there  is  a  sweet  smile 
,upon  her  face.'' 

"I  am  so  glad,"  said  Alice.  She  pressed'  his  arm  a  little 
tighter,  and  looking  up  to  him,  she  said,  "Perhaps  she  has 
met  her  boy,  and  that  smile  is  but  the  earthly  reflection  ot 
the  heavenly  one  that  rests  upon  her  face  in  her  home 
above.'* 

"I  hope  so/'  replied  Quincy;  and  they  walked  slowly  out 
of  church  and  took  their  places  on  the  rear  seat  of  the 
teng^li  carryalls  Ezekiel  and  Uncle  Ike  sitting:  in  front. 


364  QUINCT  ADAMS  SAWYER. 

Mandy  Skinner  and  Mrs.  Crowley  had  not  gone  to  the 
funeral.  The  latter  was  busy  skimming  cream  from  a 
dozen  large  milk  pans,  while  Mandy  sat  before  the  kitchen 
stove,  with  Swiss  by  her  side.  She  was  thinking  of  Hiram, 
and  wondering  if  he  really  intended  to  ask  her  to  marry 
him. 

"I  don't  think  he's  been  foolin*  me,  but  now  he's  goin* 
into  business  I  should  think  it  was  about  time  for  him  to 
speak  up  or  quit/' 

Swiss  suddenly  arose,  sniffed  and  went  to  the  kitchen 
door.  The  door  was  opened  softly  and  some  one  entered 
the  room.  Mandy  did  not  turn  her  head.  Perhaps  she 
guessed  who  it  was.  Then  some  one  placed  a  chair  close 
to  Mandy  and  took  a  seat  beside  her. 

"Say,  M-m-m-m-m-a-andy,"  said  Hiram,  "will  you  please 
read  this  to  me?  It's  an  important  document,  and  I  want 
to  be  sure  I've  got  it  jest  right."  As  he  said  this  he  passed 
Mandy  a  folded  paper. 

She  opened  it  and  the  following  words  met  her  eye: 
"This  is  to  certify  that  I,  Hiram  Maxwell,  of  Mason's  Cor 
ner,  in  the  town  of  Eastborough,  county  of  Normouth,  and 
Commonwealth  of  Massachusetts,  hereby  declare  my  in 
tention  to  ask  Miss  Amanda  Skinner  of  the  village,  town, 
county,  and  state  aforesaid,  to  become  my  lawful  wedded 
wife." 

"Oh,  you  big  silly!"  cried  Mandy,  dropping  the  paper, 
for  she  didn't  think  it  necessary  to  read  any  further. 

"Is  it  all  right?"  cried  Hiram,  "it  cost  a  quarter  to  git  it' 
drawn  up.  Then  I  swore  to  it  ibefore  old  Squire  Rundlett 
over  to  Montrose,  and  it  ought  ter  hold  water.  You'd  bet 
ter  keep  it,  Mandy,  then  I  can't  fling  it  up  at  yer  that  I 
never  axed  yer  to  marry  me." 

"Who  told  you  that?''  asked  the  girl  indignantly. 

''Ma  Hawkins.  Well,  she  didn't  exactly  say  it  to  me,  but 
she  spoke  it  out  so  loud  to  Betsy  Green  that  I  heered  it! 


AUNT  ELXJL  Sti* 

clear  out  in  the  wood-shed  and  I'll  tell  yer  what,  Maady, 
it  kinder  made  me  mad." 

"Well,  it's  all  right  now,"  said  Mandy  soothingly. 

"Is  it?"  asked  Hiram,  his  face  beaming  with  delight. 

The  next  instant  there  was  a  succession  of  peculiar 
sounds  heard  in  the  room.  As  Swiss  came  back  from  the 
kitchen  door  but  one  chair  was  needed  for  the  happy  coupk, 
and  an  onlooker  would  have  thought  that  chair  was  occu 
pied  by  one  person  with  a  very  large  head,  having  light 
curly  hair  on  one  side  and  straight  dark  hair  on  the  other, 
no  face  being  visible. 

It  was  upon  this  picture  that  Mrs.  Crowley  looked  as  she 
opened  the  door  leading  into  the  kitchen  and  started  to 
come  into  the  room  with  a  large  pan  full  of  cream. 

Astonished,  she  stepped  backward,  forgetting  the  two 
steps  that  she  had  just  ascended.  Flat  upon  her  back  she 
fell,  the  j>an  of  cream  drenching  her  from  head  to  foot. 

"It's  drowncled  I  am!  It's  drownded  I  ami"  she  cried  at 
the  top  of  her  voice. 

"What's  the  matter?  How  did  it  happen?"  said  Mandy, 
as  she  rushed  into  the  room,  followed  by  Swiss. 

"Shure  it's  thinkin'  I  was,''  moaned  Mrs.  Crowley, 
"when  the  milk  fell  on  me." 

"Thinkin'  of  what?''  cried  Mandy  sharply.  "You  couldn't 
have  been  thinkin'  of  your  business." 

"Shure  I  was  thinkin'  of  the  day  when  Pat  Crowley  and 
I  both  sat  in  the  same  chair,  forty  years  ago,"  said  Mrs. 
Crowley,  rising  to  her  feet  and  wiping  the  cream  from  her 
eyes,  and  nose,  and  ears. 

During  this  time  Swiss  was  busily  engaged  having  a  rich 
feast  upon  the  cream  left  in  the  pan.  Hiram  appeared  at 
the  kitchen  door  to  learn  the  cause  of  Mandy's  absence. 

Raising  her  hands  high  in  the  air,  Mrs.  Crowley  said, 
"Bless  you,  my  darlints;  may  yer  live  long  and  may  all  the 
saints  pour  blessin's  on  yer  hids." 


866  QUINTCY  ADAMS  SAWYER. 

And  with  this  invocation  the  poor  old  woman  hobbled 
off  to  her  room  in  the  ell  and  was  not  seen  again  until  the 
next  morning. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 


HE  next  day  was  Saturday.  While  the  Pettengil! 
faniily  was  at  breakfast,  Squire  Rundlett  arrived. 
He  had  driven  over  from  Montrose  with  the  partnership 
papers  for  Strout,  Hiram,  and  Quincy  to  sign  and  also  the 
will  of  the  late  Mrs.  Hepsibeth  Putnam. 

As  he  came  into  the  kitchen  he  espied  Mandy,  and  a 
broad  smile  spread  over  his  face  as  he  said,  "Good  morning, 
Miss  Skinner,  was  that  paper  all  right  ?"  Mandy  flushed 
scarlet  but  said  nothing.  "Honestly,  Miss  Skinner,"  said 
the  Squire,  "I  think  it  was  a  very  sensible  act  on  Hiram's 
part.  If  men  were  obliged  to  put  their  proposals  in  writ 
ing  there  wouldn't  be  any  more  breach  of  promise  cases." 

"I  think  he  was  a  big  goose,''  finally  ejaculated  Mandy, 
laughing  in  spite  of  herself. 

"At  any  rate,"  continued  the  Squire,  "he  knew  how  to 
pick  out  a  smart,  pretty  little  woman  for  a  wife;"  and  he 
raised  his  hat  politely  and  passed  into  the  dining-room. 

Here  he  was  asked  to  have  some  breakfast.  He  accepted 
a  cup  of  coffee,  and,  while  drinking  it,  informed  Quincy 
and  Alice  of  the  twofold  purpose  of  his  visit. 

Quincy  led  Alice  into  the  parlor,  the  Squire  accompany 
ing  them.  Quincy  then  retired,  saying  he  would  join  the 
Squire  in  a  short  time  and  ride  up  to  the  store  with  him. 

When  they  were  alone,  the  Squire  informed  \lice  that 
by  the  terms  of  Mrs.  Putnam's  last  will  she  had  been  left 
sole  heiress  of  all  the  real  and  personal  property  of  the  de 
ceased.  The  dwelling  house  and  farm  were  worth  fully 
ten  thousand  dollars,  while  the  bonds,  stocks,  and  other 


368  QTJINCY  ADAMS  SAWYER, 

securities,  of  which  he  had  had  charge  for  many  years,  were 
worth  at  least  forty  thousand  more.  For  several  years 
Mrs.  Putnam's  income  had  been  about  twenty-five  hundred 
dollars  a  year. 

"It  was  very  kind  of  her  to  leave  it  to  me,"  said  Alice; 
"I  have  never  done  anything  to  deserve  it  and  I  would  not 
take  it  were  it  not  that  I  understand  there  are  no  near  rela-. 
tives,  and  that  Miss  Lindy  Putnam  was  amply  provided  for 
by  her  brother." 

There  was  a  knock  upon  the  door,  and  Quincy  looked  in. 

"Come  in,  Mr.  Sawyer/'  said  the  Squire.  "I  have  an 
important  bit  of  news  for  you  that  concerns  this  young 
lady." 

Quincy  did  as  requested  and  stood  expectantly. 

The  Squire  went  on:  "Mrs.  Putnam's  old  will,  made 
some  six  years  ago,  gave  all  the  property  to  Miss  Petten- 
gill,  but  provided  that  its  provisions  should  be  kept  secret 
for  ninety  days.  In  that  will  I  was  named  as  sole  executor." 

"Why  did  she  change  it?''  asked  Alice  earnestly. 

"I  don't  know,"  replied  the  Squire.  "About  three  weeks 
ago  she  sent  for  me  and  cut  out  the  ninety-day  restriction 
and  named  our  young  friend  here  as  co-executor  with 
myself." 

Alice  remained!  silent,  while  a  look  of  astonishment  crept 
into  Quincy's  face. 

"I  do  not  quite  comprehend  her  reason  for  making  this 
change,"  remarked  Quincy. 

"Mrs.  Putnam  was  a  very  far-seeing  lady,"  said  the 
Squire,  with  a  laugh,  looking  first  at  Alice  and  then  at 
Quincy. 

A  slight  flush  mounted'  to  Alice's  cheeks,  and  Quincy 
said  coolly,  "I  do  not  perceive  the  application  of  your  re* 
mark." 

"Easy  enough,"  said  the  Squire,  seeing  that  he  had  put 
his  foot  in  it,  and  that  it  was  necessary  to  explain  his  false 
step  in  some  way,  "easy  enough.  I  have  had  sole  charge 


THE  WEDDIN'S.  £6* 

of  her  property  for  six  years,  and  she  wished  some  cool- 
headed  business  man  to  go  over  my  accounts  and  see  if  I 
had  been  honest  in  my  dealings  with  her/' 

"That  way  of  stating  the  case  is  satisfactory,"  said 
Quincy,  a  little  more  genially. 

"I  don't  think  I  am  in  danger  of  being  robbed  with  two 
sucli  trusty  guardians,"  said  Alice. 

Then  all  three  laughed,  and  the  little  rift  was  closed. 
But  the  Squire's  words  had  not  been  unheeded  and  two 
hearts  were  busily  thinking  and  wondering  if  he  had  really 
meant  what  he  said. 

The  Squire  then  turned  to  Quincy.  "If  you  will  name 
a  day  we  will  go  over  to  the  county  town,  present  the  will 
for  probate,  and  at  any  time  thereafter  my  books  will  be 
ready  for  inspection." 

Quincy  named  the  following  Wednesday,  and  then  both 
men  congratulated  Miss  Pettengill  on  her  good  fortune, 
bade  her  good  morning,  and  then  started  to  go  to  the  store. 

As  they  passed  through  the  kitchen  Mandy  was  not  in 
sight.  She  evidently  did  not  intend  to  have  a  second  inter 
view  with  the  Squire. 

When  they  reached  the  store  they  found  Strout  and 
Hiram  and  Mr.  Hill  and  his  son  already  there.  The  bus 
iness  with  Mr.  Hill  was  soon  concluded,  and  he  delivered 
the  keys  of  the  property  to  Squire  Rundlett;  then  the  co 
partnership  papers  were  duly  signed  and  witnessed,  and 
then  the  Squire  passed  the  keys  to  Mr.  Obadiah  Strout,  the 
'Senior  partner  of  the  new  firm  of  Strout  &  Maxwell,  who 
formally  took  possession  of  the  property  in  his  own  name 
and  that  of  his  partners. 

Since  Abner's  curt  declination  of  a  position  in  the  store, 
Strout  had  been  looking  around  for  some  one  to  take  his 
place,  and  had  finally  settled  upon  William  Ricker,  or,  as 
he  was  generally  called,  Billy  Ricker,  a  popular  young 
resident  of  Montrose,  as  it  was  thought  he  could  control  a 
great  deal  of  trade  in  that  town. 


370  QUINCY  ADAMS   SAWYEK. 

For  a  similar  reason,  Quincy  and  Hiram  had  united  in 
choosing  young  Abbott  Smith,  who  was  known  by  every 
body  in  Eastborough  Centre  and  West  Eastborough. 
Abbott  had  grown  tired  of  driving  the  hotel  carriage  and 
wished  to  engage  in  some  permanent  business. 

The  choice  was  naturally  not  particularly  palatable  to 
Strout,  but  he  had  consented  to  let  bygones  be  bygones  andj 
could  offer  no  valid  objection.  These  two  young  men  were 
to  report  for  duty  that  Saturday  evening,  and  the  close  of 
that  day's  business  terminated  Benoni  and  Samuel  Hill's 
connection  with  the  grocery  store. 

Sunday  morning  all  of  the  Pettengill  family  went  to 
church  and  listened  to  a  sermon  by  Mr.  Howe,  the  minister, 
from  the  text,  "Blessed  are  the  peacemakers,  for  they  shall 
inherit  the  kingdom  of  Heaven." 

As  they  were  driving  home,  Uncle  Ike  remarked  in  his 
dry.  sarcastic  way,  "I  s'pose  Mr.  Howe  was  thinkin'  of  Mrs. 
Putnam  when  he  was  praisin'  the  peacemakers;  it's  a  fash 
ion  in  the  country,  I  understand,  the  Sunday  after  a  funeral 
to  preach  in  a  general  way  about  the  departed  one." 

"Mrs.  Putnam  has  been  very  kind  to  me,''  protested 
Alice,  "and  you  should  forgive  her  for  my  sake.'' 

"I'll  forgive  her,"  said  Uncle  Ike,  "when  the  wrong  she 
has  done  has  been  righted."  He  shut  his  teeth  together 
sharply,  faced  the  horses  again,  and  lapsed  into  silence. 

In  the  afternoon  Quincy  joined  Alice  in  the  parlor,  and 
they  sang  some  sacred  music  together. 

Quincy  picked  up  a  book  from  the  table  and  said,  "Why, 
Miss  Pettengili,  by  this  turned  down  comer  I  imagine 
there  are  some  thirty  pages  of  this  very  interesting  story, 
"The  Love  of  a  Lifetime,'  that  I  have  not  read  to  you. 
Would  you  like  to  have  me  finish  it  this  afternoon?" 

"I  have  been  afraid  to  hear  the  last  chapter,"  said  Alice. 
"I  fear  Herbert  and  Clarice  will  both  die,  and  I  so  hate  a 
book  with  a  sad  ending.  Why  don't  authors  keep  their 
lovers  alive — " 


THE  WEDDIN'S.  371 

"Marry  them  off  and  let  them  live  happily  ever  after 
ward/'  Quincy  concluded. 

"I  don't  think  I  could  ever  write  a  book  with  a  sorrowful 
conclusion,'7  mused  Alice, 

Quincy  saw  the  opportunity  for  which  he  had  long 
waited. 

"Why  don't  you  write  a  book?"  asked  he  earnestly/ 
"My  friend  Leopold  says  you  ought  to;  he  further  said 
that  you  were  a  genius,  and  if  I  remember  him  correctly, 
compared  you  to  a  diamond — '' 

"In  the  rough,"  added  Alice  quickly. 

"That's  it,"  said  Quincy;  "but  Leopold  added  that  rough 
diamonds  should  be  dug  up,  cut,  and  set  in  a  manner  worthy 
of  their  value." 

"I  am  afraid  Mr.  Ernst  greatly  overrates  my  abilities  and 
my  worth,''  said  she,  a  little  constrainedly.  "But  how  un 
kind  and  ungrateful  I  am  to  you  and  Mr.  Ernst,  who  have 
been  so  kind  and  have  done  so  much  for  me.  I  will  prom 
ise  this  much,"  she  continued  graciously.  "I  will  think  It 
over,  and  if  my  heart  does  not  fail  me,  I  will  try." 

"I  hope  your  conclusion  will  be  favorable,"  remarked 
Quincy.  "In  a  short  time  you  will  be  financially  indepen 
dent  and  freed  from  any  necessity  of  returning  to  your 
former  vocation.  I  never  knew  of  an  author  so  completely 
successful  at  the  start,  and  I  think  you  have  every  encour 
agement  to  make  literature  your  'love  of  a  lifetime.' '' 

"I  will  try  to  think  so  too,"  replied  Alice  softly. 

Then  he  took  up  the  book  and  finished  reading  it.  When 
he  had  closed,  neither  he  nor  she  were  thinking  of  that 
future  world  in  which  Herbert  and  Clarice  had  sealed  those 
vows  which  they  had  kept  so  steadfastly  and  truly  during 
life,  but  of  the  present  world,  bright  with  promise  for  each 
of  them,  in  which  there  was  but  one  shade  of  sorrow — 
that  filmy  web  that  shut  out  the  beauties  of  nature  from 
the  sight  of  that  most  beautiful  of  God's  creations,  a  lovely 
woman. 


372  QUIXCY   ADAMS   SAWYER. 

Monday  morning  Qtiincy  made  another  trip  to  Boston. 
He  had  obtained  the  measurements  for  a  large  sign,  upon 
which,  on  a  blue  ground,  the  words  "Strout  &  Maxwell" 
were  to  appear  in  large  gold  letters.  •  He  paid  another  visit 
to  the  carriage  factory,  and  ordered  two  leather  covered 
•wagon  tops,  to  be  used  in  stormy  weather,  and  picked  out 
two  sets  of  harness  resplendent  with  brass  buckles  and 
bosses  and  having  "S.  &  M."  in  brass  letters  on  the  blinders. 

He  reached  Aunt  Ella's  in  time  for  lunch.  He  told  her 
of  the  approaching  wedding  of  Ezekiel  and  Huldy;  then, 
leaning  over,  he  whispered  something  in  her  ear,  which 
made  her  face  beam  with  delight. 

"What  a  joke  it  will  be,"  cried  she,  "and  how  the  coun 
try  folks  will  enjoy  it.  Can't  I  come  down  to  the  wedding, 
Quincy,  and  bring  my  landau,  my  double  span  of  cream- 
colored  horses,  and  my  driver  and  footman  in  the  Chess 
man  livery?  I'll  take  you  and  your  lady  love  to  the  church." 

"Why,  certainly,"  said  Quincy.  "I'll  ask  Miss  Mason 
to  send  you  an  invitation.'' 

"Let  me  do  something  to  help,"  begged  the  impetuous 
but  good-hearted  Aunt  Ella.  "Bring  the  girls  up  some 
morning  early.  We  will  go  shopping,  then  we'll  lunch 
here.  We  will  have  to  go  without  our  wine  and  cigars 
that  day,  you  know,  and  then  we'll  go  to  the  modiste's  and 
the  milliner's  in  th'e  afternoon.  We'll  make  a  day  of  it, 
young  man." 

Quincy  leaned  back  in  his  easy-chair  and  blew  a  ring  of 
blue  smoke  from  one  of  Uncle  Robert's  cigars. 
')    "Excuse  me,  Aunt  Ella,"  said  he,  "but  do  you  ever  in 
tend  to  get  married  again?'' 

"Quincy  Adams  Sawyer!"  cried  Aunt  Ella,  with  an  as 
tonished  look  on  her  face,  "are  you  joking?" 

"Certainly  not,"  replied  Quincy.  "My  question  was  in 
tended  to  be  a  serious  and  respectful  inquiry.  You  are 
only  forty,  fine  looking,  well  educated,  well  connected  and 
wealthy.  Why  should  you  not?" 


THE  WEDDIN'S.  S73 

*'I  will  answer  you  seriously  then,  Quincy.  I  could  not 
marry  again.  Ten  years'  life  with  Robert  Chessman  was 
a  greater  pleasure  than  a  lifetime  with  an  ordinary  man. 
I  was  twenty-five  when  I  married  him;  we  lived  together 
ten  years;  he  has  been  dead  for  five.  How  often  I  have 
wished  that  Robert  had  lived  to  enjoy  his  fortune  with  me. 

"But  he  was  satisfied,"  she  continued.  "  'Better  be  a 
success  at  the  end/  he  used  to  say,  'than  be  a  success  in  mid 
dle  life  and  fall  from  your  greatness.  Look  at  Wolsey, 
look  at  Richelieu,  look  at  Napoleon  Bonaparte.'  He  would 
often  remark:  'Earth  has  no  sadder  picture  than  a  broken 
idol.'  He  used  to  consider  Abraham  Lincoln  the  most  suc 
cessful  man  that  ever  lived,  for  he  died  before  making  a 
mistake,  and  when  he  was  strongest  in  the  hearts  of  the 
people. 

"Your  question  reminds  me,'*  continued  Aunt  Ella,  "of 
something  I  had  in  mind  to  say  to  you  at  some  future  day, 
but  I  may  as  well  say  it  now.  How  much  money  have 
you,  Quincy,  and  what  is  your  income?" 

"Father  gave  me  fifty  thousand  dollars  outright  when  I 
was  twenty-one;  it  pays  on  an  average  six  per  cent.  Be 
sides  this  he  allows  me  two  thousand  a  year  for  sup 
posed  professional  services  rendered  in  his  law  office." 

"That  makes  five  thousand  a  year,"  said  Aunt  Ella 
quickly.  "Well,  Fll  allow  you  five  thousand  more  a  year, 
and  the  day  you  are  married  I'll  give  you  as  much  outright 
as  your  father  did.  That's  unconditional.  Now,  condition 
ally,  if  you  bring  your  wife  here  and  live  with  me  you, 
shall  have  rooms  and  board  free,  and  I'll  leave  you  every' 
dollar  I  possess  when  I'm  through  with  it.  Don't  argue 
with  me  now,"  she  continued,  as  Quincy  essayed  to  speak. 
"Think  it  over,  tell  her  about  it.  You  will  do  as  you  please, 
of  course,  but  I  shall  not  change  my  mind  on  this  point." 

"Didn't  your  husband  leave  any  relatives  that  might 
turn  up  and  prevent  any  such  disposition  of  your  proj>> 
erty?" 


£74  QUINCY  ADAMS  SAWYEK. 

"When  we  married,  Robert  said  he  was  alone  in  the 
world,"  replied  Aunt  Ella;  "he  had  no  sisters,  and  only  one 
brother,  named  Charles.  Charles  was  an  artist;  he  went 
to  Paris  to  study  about  thirty-five  years  ago.  From  there 
he  went  to  London.  Some  thirty  years  ago  Robert  got  a 
letter  from  him  in  which  he  said  he  was  going  to  return  to 
America.  Robert  waited,  but  he  did  not  come;  then  he 
wrote  again  to  his  English  address,  but  the  letter  was  re 
turned  with  the  words  'Gone  to  America'  endorsed 
thereon." 

"Was  he  .married?''  inquired  Quincy. 

"Robert  never  knew,"  said  Aunt  Ella,  "but  he  imagined 
not,  as  Charlie,  as  he  called  him,  never  spoke  in  his  letters 
of  being  in  love,  much  less  of  being  married." 

Quincy  caught  the  three  o'clock  train  to  Eastborough 
Centre,  and  Ellis  Smith,  another  son  of  'Bias  Smith,  who 
had  taken  the  hotel  carriage  in  place  of  his  brother  Abbott, 
drove  him  home. 

A  few  diays  thereafter  invitations  to  the  wedding  of 
Ezekiel  Pectengill  and  Hulda  Ann  Mason  were  sent  broad 
cast  through  Eastborough  Centre,  West  Eastborough, 
Mason's  Corner,  and  Montrose.  Then  it  was  decided  by 
the  gossips  that  Ezekiel  was  going  to  have  Mr.  Sawyer  and 
Hiram  Maxwell  and  Sam  Hill  to  stand  up  with  him,  while 
Huldy  Ann  was  going  to  have  Alice  Pettengill,  Mandy 
Skinner,  and  Tilly  James  as  bridesmaids. 

The  whole  town  turned  out  when  the  two  gaudy  wagons, 
with  their  handsome  horses  and  fine  harness  reached  East- 
borough  Centre,  and  a  number  of  Centre  folks  followed 
the  unique  procession  over  to  Mason's  Corner.  One  of 
the  wagons  contained  the  new  sign,  which  was  soon  put 
in  place,  and  was  a  source  of  undisguised  admiration  for  a 
long  time. 

On  the  tenth  of  April,  Strout  &  Maxwell's  two  heavy 
teams  went  over  to  Eastborough  Centre  and  returned  about 
noon  heavily  loaded,  followed  by  three  other  teams  from 


THE  WEDDIN'S.  375 

the  Centre  equally  well  filled.  Then  Mr.  Obadiah  Strout 
could  contain  himself  no  longer.  He  let  the  cat  out  of  the 
hag,  and  the  news  spread  like  wildfire  over  the  village,  and 
was  soon  carried  to  Eastborough  Centre  and  to  Montrose. 
The  Mason's  Corner  church  was  to  have  a  new  organ,  a 
present  from  Mr.  Sawyer,  and  Professor  Obadiah  Strout 
had  been  engaged  to  officiate  for  one  year. 

The  nineteenth  of  April  was  fixed  for  Huldy's  wedding 
day.  The  hour  was  ten  in  the  morning.  As  early  as  eight 
o'clock  teams  began  to  arrive  from  north,  east,  south,  and 
west.  Enough  invitations  had  been  issued  to  fill  the  church, 
and  by  half-past  nine  every  seat  was  taken. 

The  little  church  was  profusely  decorated  with  vines, 
ferns  and  potted  plants,  while  a  wealth  of  cut  flowers 
adorned  the  altar,  the  front  of  the  new  organ,  which  rose 
towering  to  the  very  top  of  the  church,  and  the  pews 
reserved,  for  the  bridal  party. 

Outside  the  edifice  hundreds  of  sightseers,  not  honored 
with  invitations,  lined  both  sides  of  the  spacious  Square  in 
front  of  the  church,  and  occupied  positions  of  vantage  on 
the  steps. 

It  lacked  but  ten  minutes  of  ten.  The  sexton  rung  a 
merry  peal  from  the  sweet-toned  bell,  which  was  the  pride 
of  the  inhabitants  of  Mason's  Corner.  Within  the  church 
the  ushers,  having  attended  to  the  seating  of  the  audience, 
stood  just  within  the  door  awaiting  the  arrival  of  the  bride 
and  groom.  They  were  in  dress  suits,  with  white  gloves, 
and  each  had  a  white  rose  in  his  butonhole.  Robert  Wood 
and  Cobb's  twins  had  been  assigned  to  the  right  of  the 
centre  aisle,  while  Abbott  Smith,  Benjamin  Bates,  and 
Emmanuel  Howe  had  charge  of  the  left  side  of  the  edifice. 
If  any  noticed  the  absence  of  Samuel  Hill  and  Hiram  Max 
well,  it  did  not  provoke  general  remark,  although  Mrs. 
Hawkins  asked  Jonas  if  he'd  seen  Mandy  anywhere,  and 
Til'y  James's  scHool  chum,  Eliza  Allen,  managed  to  occupy 
seats,  so  as  to  have  one  for  TiUv  when  she 


376  QU1NCY  ADAMS  SAWYER. 

At  exactly  five  minutes  of  ten,  Professor  Strout  emerged 
from  the  rear  of  the  platform  and  proceeded  towards  the 
new  organ.  He,  like  the  ushers,  was  in  a  dress  suit,  with  a 
white  rose  in  the  lapel  of  his  coat.  He  was  greeted  with 
applause  and  bowed  his  acknowledgements.  He  took  his 
seat  at  the  organ  and  played  a  soft  prelude,  during  which 
the  Rev.  Caleb  Howe  entered  and  advanced  to  the  altar. 

Then  loud  cheers  were  heard  from  the  assembled  crowd 
outside.  The  organ  stopped  and  the  sexton  again  filled 
the  au*  with  merry  peals.  The  sight  outside  was  one  which 
those  inside  could  not  see,  and  therefore  could  not  appre 
ciate.  What  was  that  coming  up  the  road?  Mason's  Cor 
ner  had  never  seen  an  equipage  like  that  before.  An  open 
carriage,  drawn  by  four  cream-colored  horses,  with  white 
nianes  and  tails  and  silver-tipped  harness.  A  coachman 
in  livery  sat  upon  the  box,  while  a  footman,  in  similar 
livery,  rode  behind.  Following  behind  this  were  other  car 
riages,  containing  the  other  members  of  the  bridal  party. 

Within  the  church  every  eye  was  turned  upon  the  door 
through  which  the  party  was  to  come.  Professor  Strout's 
sharp  eye  saw  the  first  couple  as  they  reached  the  entrance, 
and  the  strains  of  Mendelssohn's  Wedding  March,  that 
have  preceded  so  many  happy  bridals,  sounded  through 
the  church.  The  party  included  Ezekiel  and  Huldy,  Dea 
con  Mason  and  wife,  Mr.  Sawyer  and  Miss  Alice  Pet- 
tengill,  and  a  handsome,  richly  dressed  lady  unknown  to 
anv  of  the  villagers,  who  was  escorted  by  Mr.  Isaac  Petten- 
gill. 

Ezekiel  and  Huldy  advanced)  and  took  their  positions 
before  the  minister,  while  the  remainder  of  the  party  took 
seats  in  one  of  the  bridal  pews. 

When  the  ceremony  was  over  the  audience  naturally 
expected  that  the  wedded  couple  would  leave  the  church 
by  the  right-hand  aisle,  on  both  sides  of  which,  from  end 
to  end,  white  silk  ribbons  had  been  drawn  to  keep  the  pas 
sage  clear. 


THE  WEDDDT'S.  3T? 

But  no!  Shouts  and  cheers  were  again  heard  from 
-outside  the  church,  again  the  church  bell  rang  out,  and 
once  more  the  melody  of  the  Wedding  March  fell  upon  the 
ears  of  the  Professor's  auditors,  while  to  their  astonish 
ment  Ezekiel  and  his  wife  seated  themselves  quietly  in  the 
front  bridal  pew,,  Again  every  eye  was  turned,  every  neck 
was  craned,  and  Samuel  Hill  and  Tilly  James  walked  down 
the  centre  aisle  and  took  their  places  before  the  clergyman. 
Again  the  solemn  words  were  spoken,  and  this  time  the 
spectators  felt  sure  that  the  double  couple  would  leave  the 
church  by  the  silken  pathway. 

But  no;  again  were  cheers  and  shouts  from  the  outside 
borne  to  the  excited  spectators  within.  Once  more  the 
sexton  sent  out  pleasing  tones  from  the  church  bell;  once 
more  the  Professor  evoked  those  melodious  strains  from 
the  sweet-toned  organ;  and  as  Samuel  Hill  and  his  wife 
took  their  seats  in  the  front  pew  beside  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Eze 
kiel  Pettengill,  the  excitement  of  the  audience  could  no 
longer  be  controlled.  It  overcame  all  restraint,  and  as 
Hiram  Maxwell  and  Mandy  Skinner  entered,  the  people 
arose  to  their  feet  and  cheered  loudly,  as  they  would  have 
done  at  a  political  meeting  or  a  circus. 

Again,  and  for  the  last  time,  the  Rev.  Mr.  Howe  went 
through  the  time-honored  ceremony,  and  at  its  close  Mr 
arid  Mrs.  Ezekiel  Pettengill,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Samuel  Hill, 
and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hiram  Maxwell  left  the  church  by  way 
of  the  right-hand  aisle,  preceded  by  the  ushers,  who  strewed 
the  aisle  with  white  roses  as  they  advanced,  and  were  fol 
lowed  by  the  occupants  of  the  second  bridal  pew. 

As  Quincy  rode  over  to  Eastborough  Centre  with  his 
Aunt  Ella,  after  partaking  of  the  wedding  breakfast,  which 
was  served  in  Deacon  Mason's  dining-room,  she  remarked 
to  him  that  the  events  of  the  day  had  been  most  enjoyable, 
and  that  she  didn't  know,  after  all.  but  that  she  should 
change  her  mind  about  getting  married  again. 

When  asked  by  Quincy  if  she  had  seen  any  one  whom 


378  QUINCT  ADAMS  SAWYER. 

she  thought  would  suit  her  for  a  second  husband,  she  re< 
plied  that  "Mr.  Isaac  Pettengill  was  a  very  well-preserved 
old  gentleman,  and  the  most  original  man  in  thought  and 
speech  that  she  had  met  since  Robert  died.'' 

Ouincy  did  not  inform  her  that  Uncle  Ike  had  a  wife 
and  two  grown-up  daughters  living,  thinking  it  best  to  re 
serve  that  information  for  a  future  occasion. 

That  night  Strout  &  Maxwell's  grocery  store  was  the 
centre  of  attraction.  Strout  was  in  his  glory,  and  was,  of 
course,  in  his  own  opinion,  the  most  successful  feature  of 
that  eventful  day.  It  was  a  very  common  thing  to  get 
married,  but  it  was  a  most  uncommon  thing  to  play  on  a 
new  church  organ,  and  play  as  well  as  he  had  done,  "for 
the  first  time,  too,"  as  he  remarked  a  score  of  times. 

Stepping  upon  a  barrel,  the  Professor  called  out  in  a 
loud  voice,  "Order,  please,"  and  in  a  short  time  the  assem 
bled  crowd  became  quiet. 

"Friends  and  Feller  Citizens:  I  have  this  day  received 
my  commission  as  postmaster  at  Mason's  Corner,  Mass. 
Mail  matter  will  be  sorted  with  celerity  and  delivered  only 
to  the  proper  parties,  while  the  firm  of  Strout  &  Maxwell 
will  always  keep  on  hand  a  full  assortment  of  the  best 
family  groceries  at  reasonable  prices.  Soliciting  your  con 
tinued  patronage,  I  remain,  yours  respectively. 

OBADIAH  STROUT,  Postmaster. 

As  the  Professor  stepped  down  from  the  barrel,  Abner 
Stiles  caught  him  by  the  arm  and  said  in  a  low  voice, 
"Isn't  Deacon  Mason  one  of  your  bondsmen?'' 

"Yes,"  said  Strout,  somewhat  pompously,  "but  what  of 
it?" 

"Why,  yer  see/'  said  Abner,  "I'm  workin'  for  the  Dea 
con  now,  and  I'm  just  as  devoted  to  his  interests  as  I  used 
to  be  to  yourn  onct,  and  with  a  much  better  hope  of  reward, 
both  on  this  earth  and  in  Heaven,  and  if  he's  got  money 


THE  WEDDIN'S. 


put  up  cm  yer,  of  course  yer  won't  object  if  I  drop  in  onct 
in  a  while  and  kinder  keep  an  eye  on  yer."  And  with  this 
parting  shot  he  dashed  out  a  side  door  and  was  lost  to 
sight. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

BLENNERHASSETT. 

k 

FHEN  comparatively  great  events  follow  each  other 
in  quick  succession,  those  of  minor  importance  are 
liable  to  escape  mention.  It  was  for  this  reason,  probably, 
that  the  second  visit  of  Dr.  Tillotson  was  not  spoken  of  at 
the  time  of  its  occurrence.  He  examined  Alice's  eyes  and 
declared  that  progress  towards  recovery  was  being  made, 
slowly  but  surely.  He  left  a  bottle  of  new  medicine,  and 
advised  Alice,  as  an  aid  to  recovery,  to  take  a  long  walk, 
^>r  a  ride,  each  pleasant  day.  This  advice  he  repeated  to 
Uncle  Ike,  who  was  waiting  for  him  outside  the  front  door, 
and  to  Ouincy,  who  brought  him  from  the  station  and  took 
him  back. 

On  the  day  fixed  upon,  Quincy  drove  over  to  Montrose, 
and  accompanied  by  Squire  Rundlett,  went  to  the  county 
town  and  presented  Mrs.  Putnam's  will  for  probate.  In 
d"ue  time  the  will  was  admitted,  the  executors'  bonds  were 
filed  and  approved,  and  Quincy,  at  the  age  of  twenty~threes 
found  himself  one  of  the  financial  guardians  of  the  young" 
heiress,  Mary  Alice  Pettengill,  she  being  his  junior  by  less 
than  two  years. 

About  ten  days  after  Quincy's  interview  with  his  Aunt 
Ella,  in  which  she  had  signified  her  intention  of  making' 
him  an  allowance,  he  received  a  letter  from  a  Boston  bank 
ing  firm,  informing  him  that  by  direction  of  Mrs,  Ells 
Chessman,  the  sum  of  five  thousand  dollars  had  been  placed 
to  his  credit,  and  that  a  similar  sum  would  be  so  placed 
on  the  first  business  day  of  January  in  each  succeeding 
yeai*'-  A  blank  card  was  enclosed  for  a  copy  of  his  signa- 


BLESTNEKHASSETT.  38i 

£ure,  and  the  statement  made  that  his  drafts  would  be  duly 
honored. 

When  Quincy  and  his  aunt  reached  Eastborough  Cen 
tre,  after  the  trio  of  weddings,  they  found  that  they  had  a 
full  hour  to  wait  before  the  arrival  of  the  next  ingoing 
train. 

This  gave  plenty  of  time  for  the  reloading  of  the  horses 
and  carriage  on  the  special  car  in  which  they  had  been 
brought  from  Boston  and  which  had  been  side-tracked. 

Quincy  wished  to  accompany  his  aunt  to  Boston  and 
escort  her  to  her  home,  but  she  demurred.  He  insisted, 
but  his  aunt  replied,  "Don't  go,  please  don't,  Quincy;  they 
will  take  me  for  your  mother,  and  I  really  am  not  quite  old 
enough  for  that." 

This  argument  was  unanswerable,  and  Quincy  bade  her 
a  laughing  good-by  as  the  train  sped  on  towards  Boston, 
the  special  car  in  charge  of  the  coachman,  and  footman 
bringing  up  the  rear. 

Thus  Aunt  Ella's  visit  to  Mason's  Corner  became  an 
event  of  the  past,  but  the  memory  of  it  remained  green  for 
a  long  time  in  the  minds  of  those  who  had  witnessed  her 
arrival  and  departure. 

Ellis  Smith  drove  Quincy  home  to  the  Pettengill  house. 
It  was  to  be  home  no  longer,  for  Hiram  and  Mandy  were 
to  have  the  room  that  Quincy  had  occupied  so  long.  His 
trunk  and  other  belongings  he  had  packed  up  the  night 
before,  and  at  Quincy's  request,  Cobb's  twins  had  taken 
them  out  to  Jacob's  Parlor,  where  he  found  thenic  He 
knew  that  Mr0  and  Mrs.  Hawkins  were  to  spend  the  after 
noon  with  their  daughter  and  son-in-law. 

Quincy  also  knew  that  Uncle  Ike  and  Alice  were  at 
Deacon  Mason's,  where  Ezekiel  and  Huldy  were  to  remain 
ior  the  coming  week. 

For  the  first  time  since  he  had  been  at  Mason's  Corner, 
Quincy  felt  lonesome  and  deserted.  He  reflected  on  his 
way  to  Mrs.  Hawkins's  boarding  house  that  these  weddings 


882  QUINCT    ADAMS    SAWYER. 

were  all  very  nice,  to  be  sure,  but  they  had  deprived  hi?*;, 
of  the  society  of  many  good  friends,  who  were  now  united 
by  stronger  ties  than  those  of  simple,  everyday  friendship. 

He  did  not  care  to  go  to  the  grocery  store,  for  he  felt 
that  the  Professor  was  entitled  to  all  the  credit  that  he  was 
likely  to  get  for  his  day's  performance,  and  he  did  not  wish 
to  detract  from  it.  So  he  went  directly  to  his  room,  and 
for  the  first  time  felt  out  of  sorts  with  Eastborough  and  its 
people. 

He  was  not  hungry  for  food,  so  he  did  not  answer  the 
call  to  supper,  but  sat  in  the  dark  and  thought.  He  real 
ized  that  he  was  hungry,  yes,  desperately  hungry,  for  love 
— the  love  of  one  woman,  Alice  Pettengill.  Why  should 
he  wait  longer?  Even  if  his  father  and  mother  objected  his 
Aunt  Ella  was  on  his  side,  and  her  action  had  made  him 
independent.  He  had  felt  himself  so  before,  but  now  there 
was  no  doubt  of  it. 

This  determined  young  man  then  made  up  his  mind  he 
would  declare  his  love  at  the  first  auspicious  moment. 
Then  he  would  go  to  his  parents  and  learn  their  verdict 
on  his  proposed  action.  Thinking  thus  he  went  to  bed, 
and  in  his  dreams,  ushers,  and  bridesmaids,  and  cut  flowers, 
and  potted  plants,  and  miles  of  silken  ribbon,  and  cream- 
colored  horses,  and  carnages,  and  clergymen,  and  organ 
ists,  and  big  pipe  organs  were  revolving  about  him  and 
Alice,  as  the  planets  revolve  about  the  sun. 

Once  more  Quincy's  breakfast  was  on  the  stove  being 
kept  warm,  and  once  more  Mrs.  Hawkins  was  waiting  im 
patiently  for  him  to  come  down. 

Betsy  Green  and  she  were  washing  the  breakfast  dishes, 
How  happy  Eve  must  have  been  in  Eden,  where  there  was 
no  china,  no  knives  and  forks,  and  no  pots  and  kettles,  and 
what  an  endless  burden  of  commonplace  drudgery  she  en 
tailed  upon  her  fair  sisters  when  she  fell  from  her  high 
estate.  Man's  labor  is  uniformly  productive,  but  woman's, 
alas!  is  still  almost  as  uniformly  simply  preservative. 


BLENNERHASSETT.  S8& 

"Mr.  Sawyer,"  said  Mrs.  Hawkins  to  Betsy  Green,  "is 
no  doubt  a  very  nice  young1  man,  but  I  shouldn't  want  him 
for  a  steady  boarder,  'less  he  got  up  on  time  and  eat  his 
meals  reg'lar." 

"I  s'pose  he's  all  tired  out,"  remarked  Betsy.  "He  had 
a  pretty  hard  day  of  it  yesterday,  you  know,  Mis'  Haw* 
kins." 

"Wall,  I  s'pose  I  ought  to  be  kinder  easy  on  him  on  that 
account.  I  must  say  he  managed  things  fust  rate." 

"How  did  the  brides  look?"  asked  Betsy. 

Poor  girl,  she  was  one  of  the  few  who  were  not  able  to 
view  the  grand  sight. 

"I  can  think  of  no  word  to  express  my  feelin's,"  replied 
Mrs.  Hawkins  after  a  pause,  "but  splendiferous!  Huldy's 
dress  was  a  white  satin  that  would  a  stood  alone.  She  had 
a  overskirt  of  netted  white  silk  cord,  heavy  enough  to  use 
for  a  hammock.  You  know  she's  neither  light  nor  dark, 
kind  of  a  between,  but  she  looked  mighty  poorty  all  the 
same." 

"Was  Tilly  James  dressed  in  white,  too?"  inquired  Betsy. 

"No,''  answered  Mrs.  Hawkins.  "She  wore  a  very  light 
pink  silk,  with  a  lace  overskirt,  and  it  just  matched  her 
black  eyes  and  black  hair  fine,  I  can  tell  yer." 

"Mandy  must  have  looked  pretty,  with  her  light  curly 
hair  and  blue  eyes,  and  those  rosy  cheeks." 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Hawkins  reflectively,  "I'm  her  mother,, 
and  a  course  I'm  prejoodished,  but  I  honestly  think  she 
was  the  best  lookin'  one  of  the  three.  Of  course  Hiram 
is  no  beauty,  and  I'm  all  out  of  patience  when  he  tries  to 
talk  to  me.  But  I  know  he'll  make  Mandy  a  good  hus 
band,  and  that's  a  tarnal  sight  better'n  good  looks." 

"What  color  was  Mandy's  dress?"  persisted  Betsy. 

"Lord  a  massy,"  cried  Mrs.  Hawkins,  "I  e'en  a'most  for 
got  to  tell  yer.  Her  dress  was  a  very  light  blue  silk,  with 
a  lace  overskirt,  'bout  the  same  as  Tilly's.  Mr.  Sawyer 
gave  her  two  hundred  dollars  to  buy  her  things  with,  'cause 


384  QUINCY  ADAMS  SAWYER. 

she's  been  so  nice  to  him  since  he  boarded  at  PettengiU's." 

"Who  was  that  stylish  lookin'  lady  that  came  in  a  car 
riage  with  the  four  beautiful  horses?  I  saw  her  outer  the 
attic  winder." 

"She  was  a  Mrs.  Chessman,"  replied  Mrs.  Hawkins.  I 
heern  tell  she's  a  widder'd  aunt  of  Mr.  Sawyer's,  and  she's 
as  rich  as  Creazers." 

"How  rich  is  that?"  inquired  Betsey,  with  an  astonished 
look. 

"Creazers,"  replied  Mrs.  Hawkins,  with  an  expression 
that  savored  of  erudition,  "was  a  man  who  was  so  ail  fired 
rich  that  he  had  to  hire  folks  to  spend  his  money  for  him." 

At  that  moment  a  step  was  heard  in  the  dining-room, 
and  both  Mrs.  Hawkins  and  Betsy  flew  to  wait  upon  the 
new-comer  who  proved  to  be  Mr.  Quincy  Adams  Sawyer. 
As  he  took  his  seat  at  the  table  the  Connecticut  clock  en 
the  mantelpiece  struck  ten. 

At  eleven  o'clock  that  same  morning-  Mr.  Sawyer 
knocked  at  the  front  door  of  Mr.  Ezekiel  Pettengill's  resi 
dence.  How  strange  it  seemed,  how  much  more  home 
like  it  would  have  been  to  have  entered  by  the  back  door 
and  to  have  come  through  the  kitchen  and  dining-room,  as 
of  old.  But  no!  He  was  not  a  regular  boarder  now,  only 
an  occasional  visitor. 

The  door  was  opened  by  young  Mrs.  Maxwell,  and  her 
usually  rosy  cheeks  were  ruddier  than  ever  when  she  saw 
who  the  caller  was. 

"Is  Miss  Pettengill  in?"  Quincy  politely  inquired. 

"She's  in  the  parlor,  sir;  won't  you  walk  in?"  And  she 
threw  open  the  door  of  the  room  in  which  Alice  sat  by  the 
fire. 

"Do  I  disturb  your  dreams,  Miss  Pettengill?"  asked 
Quincy,  as  he  reached  her  side. 

"I'm  so  glad  you  have  come,  Mr.  Sawyer/'  said  Alice, 
extending  her  hand.  "I  never  was  so  lonesome  in  my  life 
as  I  have  been  this  morning.  The  house  seems  deserted. 


BLENNEEHASSETT.  385 

Uncle  Ike  ate  too  many  good  things  yesterday,  and  says  he 
is  enjoying  an  attack  of  indigestion  to-day.  I  had  Swiss  in 
here  to  keep  me  company,  but  he  wouldn't  stay  and  Mandy 
had  to  let  him  out." 

"He  came  up  to  Mrs.  Hawkins's,"  said  Quincy,  as  he 
took  his  accustomed  seat  opposite  Alice.  "He  walked 
down  with  me,  but  when  he  saw  me  safe  on  the  front  door 
step  he  disappeared  around  the  corner." 

"I  didn't  tell  him  to  go  after  you,"  said  Alice,  laughing.; 
"but  I  am  very  glad  that  you  have  come.  I  have  a  very 
important  matter  to  consult  you  about.  You  know  you 
are  my  business  man  now." 

"I'm  always  at  your  service,"  replied  Quincy.  "I  think 
I  know  what  you  wish  to  see  me  about." 

"And  what  do  you  think  it  is?"  asked  Alice,  shaking  her 
head  negatively. 

"Well,"  said  Quincy,  "I  saw  Squire  Rundlett  the  day 
before  the  weddings  and  he  thought  that  you  might  pos 
sibly  want  some  money.  He  had  a  thousand  dollars  in 
cash  belonging  to  you,  and  I  brought  you  half  of  it.  If 
you  will  kindly  sign  this  receipt,"  he  continued,  as  he  took 
a  small  parcel  from  his  pocket,  "you  will  relieve  me  of 
further  responsibility  for  its  safe  keeping." 

He  moved  the  little  writing  table  close  to  her  chair,  and 
dipping  the  pen  in  the  ink  he  handed  it  to  her,  and  indi 
cated  with  his  finger  the  place  where  she  should  sign.  She 
wrote  as  well  as  ever,  though  she  could  see  nothing  that  she- 
penned.  I 

"There  are  eight  fifty-dollar  bills,  eight  tens  and  foutf 
fives,''  he  said,  as  he  passed  her  the  money. 

"Which  are  the  fifties?"  she  asked,  as  she  handled  the 
money  nervously  with  her  fingers. 

"Here  they  are,"  said  Quincy,  and  he  separated  them 
from  the  rest  of  the  bills  and  placed  them  in  her  hands. 

"Oh!  thank  you."  said  she.  She  counted  out  four  of  the 
bills  and  passed  them  to  Quincy.  "That  settles  my  money 


586  QUINCY  ADAMS  SAWYER. 

debt  to  you,  does  it  not?"  she  inquired;  "but  nothing1  can 
pay  the  debt  of  gratitude  that  I  owe  you  for  your  many 
acts  of  kindness  to  me,  Mr.  Sawyer." 

"I  am  fully  repaid  by  that  very  kind  speech  of  yours," 
replied  Quincy.  "But  what  was  the  important  matter  you 
.wished  to  see  me  about?  I  don't  think  it  was  the  money." 

"It  was  not,5'  said  Alice.  "I  have  little  use  for  money 
just  at  present.  I  never  had  so  much  before  at  once  in  all 
my  life.  I  shall  have  to  learn  to  be  an  heiress." 

"It's  a  lesson  that  is  very  easily  learned,"  replied  Quincy. 

"What  I  wish  to  speak  about/'  continued  Alice,  musing 
ly,  "is  Mrs.  Putnam's  house.  I  could  never  live  in  it.  I 
could  never  go  into  that  room  again;''  and  she  shuddered. 

"You  can  sell  it,"  interposed  Quincy. 

"No,"  said  Alice  earnestly,  "I  am  going  to  give  it  away. 
Father  just  made  a  living  here,  and  Ezekiel  can  do  no  bet 
ter,  but  with  the  Putnam  farm,  properly  stocked,  he  can 
in  time  become  a  rich  man,  for  he  is  a  good  farmer,  and  he 
loves  his  work.  I  wish,"  continued  Alice,  "to  give  'Zekiel 
and  Huldy  the  farm  outright,  then  I  would  like  to  loan  him 
enough  money  to  buy  live  stock  and  machinery  and  what 
ever  else  he  may  need,  so  that  he  may  begin  his  new  life 
under  the  most  favorable  auspices." 

"I  think  your  proposed  action  a  most  commendable 
one,"  remarked  Quincy.  "I  am  sure  you  need  anticipate 
no  objections  on  the  part  of  Squire  Rundlett  or  myself. 
Our  duties  are  limited  to  seeing  that  all  the  property  that 
was  willed  to  you  is  properly  delivered.  It  gives  us  no 
right  to  interfere  with  your  wishes  or  to  question  your  mo 
tives.  I  will  see  Squire  Rundlett  at  an  early  day  and  have 
the  matter  put  into  shape.  Does  Ezekiel  know  of  this?" 

"Not  a  word,"  said  Alice;  "I  do  not  w:sh  to  speak  to  him 
about  it  until  the  matter  is  all  settled  and  the  papers  are 
signed.  He  is  high  spirited,  and  at  the  first  mention  I  know 
he  would  refuse  my  offer,  especially  if  he  thought  'twas 
only  known  to  us  two.  But  when  he  learns  that  the  deed  \? 


BLENKERHASSETT.  38* 

done,  and  that  the  Squire  and  yourself  are  knowing  to  it, 
he  will  be  more  tractable.'' 

"Speaking  of  the  Putnam  house,  or  more  properly,  I 
suppose,  Petterigill  house  number  two — " 

"This  will  always  be  number  one,"  interposed  Alice. 

" — reminds  me/'  said  Quincy,  that  my  efforts  to  discovel 
Lindy's  whereabouts  have  so  far  proved  unavailing.  The 
advertisement  that  I  put  in  for  a  month  has  run  out  and 
I  have  received  no  word." 

"Do  you  think  she  went  to  New  York,  as  she  promised?" 
inquired  Alice. 

"I  do  not,"  replied  Quincy.  "I  think  she  always  had  an 
idea  that  Mrs,  Putnam  had  some  letter  or  document  in  her 
possession  relating  to  her  parents.  I  think  the  poor  girl 
lost  hope  when  she  learned  that  it  was  destroyed,  and  I 
imagine  that  she  has  intentionally  hidden  herself  and  does 
not  wish  to  be  found,  I  might,  after  long  search,  discover 
her  bankers,  but  she  has  probably  notified  them  to  keep  her 
address  a  secret.  I  do  not  like  to  confess/'  he  continued, 
"to  so  abject  a  failure,  but  I  really  do  not  know  what  to 
do  next." 

"We  must  wait  and  hope,"  said  Alice.  Then  looking  up 
at  Quincy  with  an  arch  smile  upon  her  face,  she  added, 
"I  will  extend  your  time,  Sir  Knight.  Your  gallant  efforts 
have  so  far  been  unsuccessful,  but  I  shall  pray  that  you  may 
some  day  return  victorious." 

Quincy  replied  in  the  same  tone  of  banter:  "Knowing 
that  you,  fair  lady,  are  ever  thinking  of  me,  and  that  my 
name  is  ever  upon  your  fair  lips  in  prayer,  will  spur  me  to 
renewed  effort,  for  surely  no  cavalier  ever  had  a  more  lovely 
mistress  or  a  greater  incentive  to  knightly  action.'' 

Although  he  spoke  in  a  chaffing  tone,  there  was  an  under 
current  of  seriousness  in  his  manner  and  pathos  in  his  voice 
that  made  Alice  start  and  flush  visibly. 

Fearing  that  he  had  gone  too  far  he  quickly  changed  the 


S8S  QUINCY    ADAMS    SAWYES, 

subject  by  asking  abruptly,  "Have  you  come  to  any  decision 
about  your  book?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Alice,  "and  I  am  ashamed  to  say  that 
your  friend's  suggestion  and  your  warm  endorsement  of  it 
have  so  increased  my  egotism  and  enlarged  .my  apprecia 
tion  of  my  own  abilities  that  I  am  tempted  to  try  it,  espe 
cially  now,  as  you  inform  me  I  am  independent  and  can  do 
as  I  please.'' 

"Have  you  progressed  so  far  as  to  fix  upon  a  subject?" 
inquired  Quincy. 

"Yes,  provisionally/'  replied  Alice.  "I  have  always  been 
a  great  admirer  of  history,  and  particularly  that  of  my  own 
country.  For  the  period  from  1776,  no,  from  1607,  to 
the  present  time  I  have  become  conversant  with  the 
thoughts  and  acts  of  our  patriots  and  public  men.  One 
character  has  always  been  a  mystery  to  me,  and  I  wish  to 
learn  all  I  can  about  him." 

"And  he?''  questioned  Quincy. 

"Is  Aaron  Burr,"  said  Alice.  "How  I  wish  1  could  learn 
the  truth  about  the  loss  of  his  daughter  Theodosia;  then 
the  real  reasons  for  his  duel  with  Alexander  Hamilton 
are  not  fully  understood  at  the  present  day.  Then  again,  I 
should  enjoy  writing  about  that  fine  old  Irish  gentleman 
and  lover  of  science,  Harman  Blennerhassett,  arid  his  lovely 
wife,  Margaret." 

"Have  you  decided  upon  the  title?"  still  further  ques 
tioned  Quincy. 

"I  have  thought  of  two,"  she  replied,  "'Theodosia,'  and 
'Blennerhassett,'  but  I  strongly  incline  to  the  latter." 

"So  do  I,"  said  Quincy,  "but  you  will  have  to  do  much 
more  reading,  no  doubt,  before  you  commence  writing. 
Historical  novels  are  usually  savagely  attacked  by  the 
critics,  presumably  very  often  from  political  motives,  and 
you  would  have  to  be  very  strong  in  your  authorities." 

"That  is  what  troubles  me/'  said  Alice;  "if  I  only  could 
read — '* 


BLENNERHASSETT.  388 

"But  others  can  read  to  you  and  make  such  notes  as  you 
desire,"  remarked  Quincy.  "I  should  like  nothing  better 
than  to  help  you  in  such  a  work,  but  I  have  been  away  from 
home  so  long  that  I  feel  it  imperative  to  resume  my  busi 
ness  duties  at  an  early  day." 

"I  think  you  ought,"  said  Alice.  "I  could  not  presume 
to  trespass  upon  your  kindness  and  good  nature  to  such  an 
extent.  The  idea  of  writing  this  book  has  grown  very 
pleasing  to  me,  but  I  can  wait  until — "  She  stopped  speak 
ing  and  placed  both  of  her  hands  over  her  eyes.  "I  can 
wait,"  she  repeated,  "until  my  eyes  are  better." 

"Will  you  allow  me  to  make  a  suggestion,  Miss  Petten- 
gill?" 

Alice  smiled  and  nodded.  "You  are  my  literary  as  well 
as  my  financial  adviser,"  said  she. 

"It  will  no  doubt  appear  quite  an  undertaking  to  you," 
continued  Quincy,  "but  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  help  you. 
My  plan  is  to  secure  a  lady  who  reads  well  and  can  write  a 
good  hand  to  assist  you.  Besides  this,  she  must  understand 
correcting  proof  sheets.  I  think  Leopold  could  easily  find 
such  a  person  for  you.  Then,  again,  you  know  what  Dr. 
Tillotson  said  about  your  taking  exercise  and  fresh  air. 
The  second  feature  of  my  plan,  and  the  most  important  in 
my  mind,  is  to  find  some  quiet  place  in  the  country,  or  at 
the  beach,  where  you  and  your  amanuensis  can  both  work 
and  play.  I  can  buy  for  you  such  books  as  you  need,  and 
you  can  finish  the  work  this  summer." 

Alice  reflected.  After  a  few  moments'  pause  she  said, 
"I  like  the  plan  and  I  thank  you  very  much  for  speaking  of 
it;  but  I  prefer  the  beach.  I  love  the  plash  and  roar  and 
jboom>  of  the  water,  and  it  will  be  a  constant  inspiration  to 
me.  How  soon  can  I  go?''  she  asked,  with  a  look  upon  her 
face  that  a  young  child1  might  have  had  in  speaking  to  its 
father. 

This  was  Alice  Pettengill's  great  charm.  She  was  hon 
est  and  disingenuous,  and  was  always  ready  to  think  that 


890  QUIXCY    ADAMS    SAWYEK. 

what  others  deemed  it  best  for  her  to  do  was  really  so.  Imi 
tation  may  be  the  sincerest  flattery,  but  appreciation  of  the 
advice  and  counsel  of  others,  combined  with  gratitude  for 
the  friendly  spirit  that  prompts  it,  makes  and  holds  more 
friends. 

Quincy  looked  at  his  watch. 

"I  can  get  the  afternoon  train,  I  think,"  said  he.  "I  will, 
see  Leopold,  and  then  run  up  and  make  Aunt  Ella  a  call. 
She  knows  the  New  England  coast  from  Eastport  to  New 
port.  Did  she  speak  to  you  at  the  wedding?" 

"Some  lady  with  a  very  pleasant  voice  asked  me  if  I 
were  Miss  Pettengill,  while  we  were  in  the  church,"  re 
plied  Alice.  "I  said  yes,  and  then  she  told  me  that  her 
name  was  Chessman,  adding  the  information  that  she  was 
your  aunt,  and  that  you  could  tell  me  all  about  her.'' 

"I  shall  be  happy  to,"  said  Quincy;  "but  I  can  assure 
you  it  would  be  much  more  enjoyable  for  you  to  hear  it 
from  herself.  I  hope  you  will  have  that  pleasure  some 
day."  And  again  adopting  a  bantering  tone,  "I  trust,  fair 
lady,  I  shall  not  return  this  time  from  a  bootless  errand." 

Alice  listened  again,  as  she  had  often  done,  until  she 
heard  the  sound  of  departing  wheels,  and  then  she  fell  to 
wondering  whether -her  future  paths  in  life  would  continue 
to  be  marked  out  by  this  Sir  Knight,  who  was  ever  at  her 
beck  and  call,  and  whether  it  was  her  destiny  to  always 
tread  the  partis  that  he  laid  out  for  her. 

Quincy  was  fortunate  in  finding  Leopold  at  home. 

"I'm  glad  you've  come,  Quincy,"  said  he;  "I  was  going1 
to  write  you  to-night." 

"What's  up?''  inquired  Quincy. 

"Please  pass  me  that  package  of  papers  on  the  corner  of 
the  table,"  answered  Leopold,  being  loath  to  rise  from  his 
recumbent  position  on  the  lounge. 

Quincy  did  as  requested  and  took  a  seat  beside  Leopold. 

"These,"  said  Leopold,  "are  the  proofs  of  the  first  writ 
ings  of  a  to-be-famous  American  author.  Glad  she  took  a 


BLENNERHASSETT.  Wl 

»an's  name,  so  I  don't  have  to  say  authoress.  Here,"  he 
continued,  "are  the  proofs  of  the  story,  Was  it  Signed? 
Cooper  wishes  it  read  and  returned  immediately.  Editors 
wish  everything  done  immediately.  They  loaf  on  their  end 
and  expect  the  poor  author  to  sit  up  all  night  and  make  up 
for  their  shortcomings.  I'm  a  sort  of  editor  myself,  and  I 
know  what  I'm  talking  about.  This  lot,"  he  continued, 
"will  appear  in  'The  Sunday  Universe'  a  week  from  next 
Sunday.  I  had  a  copy  made  for  Jameson  to  work  from. 
Bruce  Douglas  owes  me  four-fifty  for  expenses,  necessary 
but  not  authorized." 

"I  will  see  that  you  are  reimbursed,"  said  Quincy;  "want 
it  now?"  and  he  made  a  motion  to  take  out  his  pocketbook. 

"No,"  replied  Leopold,  "I'm  flush  to-day;  keep  it  till 
some  time  when  I'm  strapped.  Last,  and  most  important 
of  all,  here  are  the  proofs  of  the  story  that  is  to  appear  in 
our  monthly.  Now,  my  advice  to  you  is,  Quincy,  seek  the 
fair  author  at  once,  correct  these  proofs  and  have  them 
back  to  me  within  three  days,  or  they'll  go  over  and  she'll 
be  charged  for  keeping  the  type  standing,  besides  having 
her  pay  hung  up  for  another  week." 

"She  won't  mind  that,''  said  Quincy,  with  a  laugh.  "She's 
an  heiress  now,  with  real  and  personal  property  valued  at 
fifty  thousand  dollars.  But  what  am  I  to  do?"  asked  he 
seriously.  "I  could  read  the  manuscript,  but  we  have  no 
one  at  Eastborough  who  knows  how  to  make 'those  pot 
hooks  and  scratches  that  you  call  'corrections.' " 
.  "Well,  you  two  young  aspirants  for  literary  fame  are  in 
a  box,  are'nt  you?  I  was  thinking  about  that  fifty  thou 
sand.  Perhaps  I'd  better  go  home  with  you  and  get  ac 
quainted  with  the  author,"  said  Leopold  with  a  laugh. 

"Well,''  returned  Quincy,  "it  would  be  very  kind  of  you 
in  our  present  emergency,  but,  strange  as  it  may  seem,  I 
came  to  see  you  this  afternoon  about  securing  a  literary  as 
sistant  for  Miss  Pettengill.  She  has  decided  to  write  that 
book." 


892  QUINCY  ADAMS  SAWYEK. 

"Good  girl!"  cried  Leopold,  sitting  bolt  upright  upon  the 
lounge.  "I  mean,  good  boy,  for  it  was,  no  doubt,  your  ac 
knowledged  powers  of  argument  and  gently  persuasive 
ways  that  have  secured  this  consummation  of  my  desire. 
Let  me  think;''  and  he  scratched  his  head  vigorously.  "I 
think  I  have  it,"  said  he,  finally.  "One  of  our  girls  down 
to  the  office  worked  so  hard  during  our  late  splurge  that 
the  doctor  told  her  she  must  rest  this  week.  She  rooms 
over  on  Myrtle  Street.  I  happened  to  be  late  in  getting  out 
one  day  last  week,  and  we  walked  together  up  as  far  as 
Chestnut  Street.  She  lives  nearly  down  to  the  end  of 
Myrtle  Street." 

"No  further  explanation  or  extenuation  is  necessary," 
said  Quincy.  "Is  she  pretty?" 

"You're  right,  she  is,"  replied  Leopold.  "She's  both 
pretty  and  smart.  She  has  a  beautiful  voice  and  writes  a 
hand  that  looks  like  copperplate.  She's  a  first-class  proof 
reader  and  a  perfect  walking  dictionary  on  spelling,  defini 
tions,  and  dates.  They  treat  her  mighty  shabby  on  pay, 
though.  She's  a  woman,  so  they  gave  her  six  dollars  a 
week.  If  she  were  a  man  they'd  give  her  twenty,  and  think 
themselves  lucky.  I'll  run  over  and  see  if  she  is  at  home, 
At  what  time  could  she  go  down  with  you  to-morrow?"  he 
asked. 

"I'll  come  after  her  at  nine  o'clock.  Tell  her  Miss  Pet- 
tengill  will  give  her  eight  dollars  a  week,  with  board  and 
lodging  free." 

"All  right,"  cried  Leopold,  "that's  business.  While  I'm, 
gone  just  see  how  pretty  those  stories  look  in  cold  type. 
I've  been  all  through  them  myself  just  for  practice." 

Leopold  dashed  out  of  the  room  and  Quincy  took  up  the 
proofs  of  the  story,  Was  It  Signed?  He  became  so  ab 
sorbed  in  its  perusal  that  Leopold  pulled  it  out  of  his  hand 
in  order  to  attract  his  attention. 

"It's  all  right,"  he  said.  "She's  delighted  at  the  idea  of 
going.  She  thinks  the  change  will  do  her  good.  She  can't 


BLENKEKHASSETT.  393 

build  tip  very  fast  in  a  little  back  room,  up  three  flights." 

"What's  her  name?"  asked  Quincy. 

"Oh!  I  forgot,''  replied  Leopold.  "I'll  write  her  name 
and  address  down  for  you.  There  it  is,"  said  he,  as  he 
passed  it  to  Quincy.  "Her  first  name  is  Rosa,  and  that's  all 
right.  She's  of  French-Canadian  descent,  and  her  last 
name  is  one  of  those  jawbreakers  that  no  American  can 
pronounce.  It  sounded  something  like  Avery,  so  she  called 
herself  at  first  Rosa  Avery;  then  the  two  A's  caused  trou 
ble,  for  everybody  thought  she  said  Rose  Avery.  Being  a 
proof  reader,"  continued  Leopold^  "she  is  very  sensitive,  so 
while  the  name  Rosa  satisfied  her  inmost  soul,  the  name 
Rose  jarred  upon  her  sensibilities.  Thus  another  change 
became  necessary,  and  she  is  now  known,  and  probably  will 
continue  to  be  known,  as  Miss  Rosa  Very,  until  she  makes 
up  her  mind  to  change  it  again." 

"I'm  greatly  obliged,  Leopold,"  said  Quincy,  making  the 
proofs  into  a  flat  parcel  and  putting  them  into  his  inside 
overcoat  pocket. 

"Don't  mention  it,  old  fellow,"  remarked  Leopold.  "You 
may  be  the  means  of  supplying  me  with  an  assistant  some 
day.  If  you  should,  don't  fail  to  call  my  attention  to  it." 

Aunt  Ella  was  at  dinner  when  Quincy  arrived.  She 
sent  word  up  by  Buttons  for  Quincy  to  come  down  to  the 
dining-room  at  once.  She  was  alone  in  the  room  when  he 
entered. 

"Just  in  time,"  said  he,  "and  I'm  hungry  as  a  bear." 

"That's  a  good  boy;  sit  down  and  help  rne  out,"  said  his 
aunt.  "These  extravagant  servants  of  mine  cook  ten  times- 
as  much  as  I  can  possibly  eat." 

"I  don't  imagine  it  is  wasted,''  replied  Quincy. 

"I  think  not,"  said  Aunt  Ella,  with  a  laugh;  "for,  judg 
ing  from  the  extra  plentiful  supply,  they  probably  have  a 
kitchen  party  in  view  for  this  evening.  But  what  keeps  yots 
away  from  Eastborough  over  night?" 


894  QUINCY  ADAMS  SAWYER. 

"I  thought  you  couldn't  eat  and  talk  at  the  same  time,** 
remarked  Quincy. 

"I  can't,"  she  replied.  "I'm  through  eating  and  I'm  go 
ing  to  sit  and  listen  to  you.  Go  right  ahead,  the  servants 
won't  come  in.  I  won't  let  them  stand  and  look  at  me  when 
I'm  eating.  If  I  want  them  I  ring  for  them." 

Quincy  then  briefly  related  the  principal  events  that  had 
taken  place  at  Mason's  Corner  since  the  nineteenth,  re 
marking,  incidentally,  that  he  had  received  no  word  from 
Lindy. 

"Let  her  alone,  and  she'll  come  home  when  she  gets 
ready,"  said  Aunt  Ella.  "As  to  the  best  place  for  your 
young  lady  to  go,  I  shall  have  to  think  a  minute.  Old 
Orchard  is  my  favorite,  but  I'm  afraid  it  would  be  too  noisy 
for  her  there,  the  hotels  are  so  close  to  the  railroad  track.  I 
suppose  your  family,  meaning  your  mother's,  of  course,  will 
go  to  Nahant,  as  usual.  Sarah  would  have  society  convul 
sions  at  Old  Orchard.  I  should  like  to  see  her  promenad 
ing  down  in  front  of  the  candy  stores,  shooting  for  cigars 
in  the  shooting  gallery,  or  taking  a  ride  down  to  Saco  Pool 
on  the  narrow-gauge;  excuse  me  for  speaking  so  of  your 
mother,  Quincy,  but  I  have  been  acquainted  with  her  much 
longer  than  you  have."  She  went  on,  "Newport  is  too  sty 
lish  for  comfort.  Ah!  I  have  it,  Quincy.  I  was  there  three 
years  ago,  and  I  know  what  I'm  talking  about.  Quaint 
place, — funny  looking  houses,  with  little  promenades  on 
top, — crooked  streets  that  lead  everywhere  and  nowhere, 
— very  much  like  Boston, — full  of  curiosities,— hardy  old 
mariners  and  peaceable  old  Quakers, — plenty  of  nice  milk 
and  eggs  and  fresh  fish, — more  fish  than  anvthinf  else, — • 
every  breeze  is  a  sea  breeze,  and  it  is  so  delightfully  quiet 
that  the  flies  and  mosquitoes  imitate  the  inhabitants,  and 
sleep  all  day  and  all  night." 

"Where  is  this  modern  Eden,  this  corner  lot  in  Para 
dise?"  asked  Quincy;  "it  can't  be  part  of  the  United  States.** 

r'Not  exactly,"  replied  Aunt  Ella;  it's  off  shore,  I  forget 


BLEKNERHASSETT.  395 

how  many  miles,  but  you  can  find'  it  swimming  around 
in  the  water  just  south  of  Cape  Cod." 

"Oh!  you  mean  Nantucket/'  cried  Quincy. 

'That's  the  place,"  assented  his  aunt.  "Now,  Quincy, 
I'll  tell  you  just  what  I  want  you  to  do,  and  I  want  you  to 
promise  to  do  it  before  I  say  another  word." 

"That's  a  woman's  way,"  remarked  Quincy,  "of  avoid 
ing  argument  and  preventing  a  free  expression  of  opinion 
by  interested  parties;  but  I'll  consent,  only  be  merciful." 

"What  I'm  going  to  ask  you  to  do,  Quincy  Sawyer,  is  for 
your  good,  and  you'll  own  up  that  I've  been  more  than  a 
mother  to  you  before  I  get  through." 

"You  always  have  been,"  said  Quincy,  seriously.  "Of 
course,  I  love  my  mother  in  a  way,  but  I'm  never  exactly 
comfortable  when  I'm  with  her.  But  when  I'm  with  you, 
Aunt  Ella,  I'm  always  contented  and  feel  perfectly  at 
home." 

"Bless  you,  my  dear  boy,"  she  said.  Then,  rising,  she 
went  behind  his  chair,  leaned  over  and  kissed  him  -on  the 
forehead;  then,  pulling  a  chair  close  to  him,  she  went  on: 
"I  haven't  spoken  to  you  of  her,  Quincy,  because  I  have 
had  no  opportunity  until  now.  I've  fallen  in  love  with  her 
myself.  I  am  a  physiognomist  as  well  as  a  phrenologist. 
Robert  taught  me  the  principles.  She's  almost  divinely 
lovely.  I  say  almost,  for,  of  course,  she'll  be  still  lovelier 
when  she  goes  to  Heaven.  Her  well-shaped  head  indicates 
a  strong,  active,  inventive  mind,  while  her  pure  heart  and 
clean  soul  are  mirrored  in  her  sweet  face.  She  is  a  good 
foil  for  you,  Quincy.  You  are  almost  dark  enough  for  a 
Spaniard  or  an  Italian,  while  she  is  Goethe's  ideal  Mar 
guerite." 

It  was  not  necessary  for  Quincy  to  ask  to  whom  she  re 
ferred,  nor  to  praise  her  powers  of  discernment.  It  was 
Aunt  Ella's  time  for  talking,  and  she  was  not  inclined  to 
brook  any  interference.  So  she  went  on. 

"I  want  you  to  bring  her  here  to  me  and  have  Rosa 


S96  QUINCY  ADAMS  SAWYER. 

What-d'yer-call-her  come  with  her.  Here  they  can  work 
and  play  until  you  get  the  nest  ready  for  her  down  to  Nan- 
tucket.  You  say  she  plays  and  sings.  I  love  music  passion 
ately,  but  I  can't  play  a  note,  even  on  a  jew's-harp;  but  if 
she  plays  a  wrong-  note  I  shall  feel  inclined  to  call  her  atten 
tion  to  it.  When  I  used  to  go  to  the  theatre  with  Robert,  I 
delighted  in  telling  him  how  badly  some  of  the  members  of 
the  orchestra  were  playing,  but  I  repented  of  it.  He  got  in 
the  habit  of  going  out  between  the  acts  to  escape  the  music, 
he  said,  and  I  never  could  keep  him  in  his  seat  after  that." 

Quincy  laughed  heartily  at  this.  "I  see  no  way  of  stop 
ping  this  bad  habit  that  gentlemen  have  of  going  out  be 
tween  the  acts,''  said  he,  "unless  you  ladies  combine,  and 
insist  on  a  higher  grade  of  orchestral  excellence." 

"I  have  a  large  library,"  continued  Aunt  Ella,  "and  she 
may  find  many  books  in  it  that  will  be  of  use  to  her.  Robert 
spent  eighteen  thousand  dollars  on  it,  and  I've  bought  a 
couple  of  thousand  dollars'  worth  more  since  his  death. 
Now,  what  do  you  say,  Quincy?  You  know  I  will  d'o  all  in 
my  power  to  make  her  comfortable  and  happy  while  she  is 
here.  If  Maude  runs  up,  and  she's  the  only  one  that  is 
likely  to,  I  will  tell  her  that  I  have  friends  here  from  Eng 
land.  I  will  keep  her  out  of  the  way.  Will  you  bring  her?" 

"If  she  will  come,  I  will,"  Quincy  replied. 

"You  will  never  repent  it,"  said  Aunt  Ella.  "Now  let 
us  go  upstairs." 

Wrhen  they  reached  her  room  the  cigars  and  cigarettes 
were  again  in  requisition. 

"I  kept  my  promise  the  other  day,  Quincy,"  said  she, 
"when  the  three  girls  were  here.  What  a  sweet,  rosy- 
cheeked,  healthy,  happy  trio  they  were!  I  wasn't  more  than 
twenty  myself  that  day.  I  give  you  my  solemn  promise, 
Quincy,  that  I  won't  smoke  a  cigarette  nor  drink  a  glass  of 
wine  while  Alice  is  here, — until  after  she  goes  to  bed;  and 
then  I'll  eat  a  clove  and  air  the  room  out  thoroughly  before 
I  let  her  in  in  the  morning." 


BLENNEKHASSETT.  397 

Quincy  was  up  early  next  morning,  and  at  ten  minutes  of 
nine  reached  the  lodging  house  in  Myrtle  Street.  He  had 
taken  a  carriage,  for  he  knew  Miss  Very  would  have  her 
luggage,  probably  a  trunk.  His  call  at  the  door  was  an 
swered  by  a  sharp-eyed,  hatchet-faced  woman,  whose  face 
was  red  with  excitement.  To  Quincy's  inquiry  if  Miss  Very 
was  in,  the  woman  replied,  "that  she  was  in  and  was  likely 
to  stay  in." 

"I  trust  she  is  not  sick/'  said  Quincy. 

"No!  she  ain't  sick,"  the  woman  replied,  "what  you  mean 
by  sick;  but  there's  worse  things  than  bein'  sick,  especially 
when  a  poor  widder  has  a  big  house  rent  to  pay  and  coal 
seven  dollars  and  a  half  a  ton.'' 

A  small  trunk,  neatly  strapped,  stood  in  the  hallway, 
Glancing  into  the  stuffy  little  parlor,  he  saw  a  woman,  ap 
parently  young,  with  her  veil  down,  seated  on  a  sofa,  with 
a  large  valise  on  the  floor  and  a  hand  bag  at  her  side. 

Quincy  divined  the  situation  at  once.  Stepping  into  the 
hallway,  he  closed  the  parlor  door,  and,  turning  to  the 
woman,  said,  "How  much?" 

"Three  dollars,"  replied  the  woman,"and  it's  cheap 
enough  for — " 

"A  miserable  little  dark  stuffy  side  room,  without  any 
heat,  up  three  flights,  back,"  broke  in  Quincy,  as  he  passed 
her  the  money. 

The  woman  was  breathless  with  astonishment  and  anger. 
Taking  advantage  of  this,  Quincy  opened  the  parlor  door, 
first  beckoning  to  the  coachman  to  come  in  and  get  the 
trunk. 

"Miss  Very,  I  presume?"  said  Quincy,  as  he  advanced 
towards  the  young  lady  on  the  sofa. 

She  arose  as  he  approached,  and  answered,  "Yes;  sir." 

"Come  with  me,  please,"  said  he,  grasping  the  valise. 
She  hesitated;  he  understood  why.  "It's  all  right,"  he  said, 
in  a  low  tone.  "I've  settled  with  the  landlady,  and  you  can 
settle  with  me  any  time." 


398  QUINCY  ADAMS  SAWYER* 

"Thank  you,  so  -much/'  spoke  a  sweet  voice  from  unfler 
neath  the  veil,  and  the  owner  of  it  followed  close  behind 
him,  and  he  handed  her  into  the  carriage.  As  Quincy 
pulled  the  carriage  door  to,  that  of  the  lodging  house  closed 
with  a  report  like  that  of  a  pistol,  and  Mrs.  Colby  went 
down  stairs  and  told  the  servant,  who  was  scrubbing  the 
kitchen  floor,  what  had  occurred,  and  added  that  she  "had 
always  had  her  suspicions  of  that  Miss  Very." 

While  Quincy  was  talking  with  Alice  the  day  before,  his 
dinner  that  Mrs.  Hawkins  had  saved  for  him  was  being1 
burned  to  a  crisp  in  and  on  the  stove.  Mrs.  Hawkins's  at 
tention  was  finally  attracted  to  it,  and,  turning  to  Betsy, 
she  said,  "Law  sakes,  somethin'  must  be  burnin.' "  Run 
ning  to  the  stove,  she  soon  discovered  the  cause.  "Mercy 
on  me!"  she  ejaculated.  "I  left  that  damper  open,  and  his 
dinner's  burnt  to  a  cinder.  Wall,  I  don't  care;  he  may  be  a. 
good  lodger,  an'  all  that,  but  he's  a  mighty  poor  boarder; 
and  it's  no  satisfaction  gittin'  up  things  for  him  to  eat,  and 
then  lettin'  them  go  to  waste,  even  if  he  does  pay  for  it. 
Them's  my  sentiments,  and  I'll  feel  better  now  I've  spit  it 
out." 

The  good  woman  went  to  work  to  clean  up  her  stove, 
while  Betsy  kept  on  with  the  seemingly  endless  dish  wash 
ing.  Mrs.  Hawkins  finished  her  work,  and,  going  to  the 
sink,  began  to  wipe  the  accumulated  pile  of  dishes. 

"I  s'pose  everybody  in  town  will  go  to  church  next  Sun-, 
day,"  said  Mrs.  Hawkins,  "to  see  them  brides." 

"Will  they  look  any  different  than  they  did  the  other' 
day?"  Betsy  innocently  inquired. 

"Well,  I  guess,"  remarked  Mrs.  Hawkins.  "I  saw 
Mandy  yesterday  and  she  told  me  all  about  her  trip  to  the 
city.  Mrs.  Chessman  went  shoppin'  with  them,  and  the 
way  she  beat  them  shopkeepers  down  was  a  sight,  Mandy 
says.  It  beats  all  how  them  rich  folks  can  buy  things  so 
much  cheaper  than  us  poor  people  can.  She  took  them  all 


BLESTKEKHASSETT.  399 

home  to  dinner,  and  Mandy  says  she  lives  in  the  most 
beautifulest  house  she  ever  saw.  Then  she  went  to  the 
dressmakers  with  them,  and  she  beat  them  down  more'n 
five  dollars  on  each  gown.  Then  she  took  'em  to  the  milli 
nery  store,  and  she  bought  each  one  of  them  a  great  big 
handsome  hat,  with  feathers  and  ribbons  and  flowers  all 
over  'em.  Nobody  has  seen  'em  yet,  but  all  three  on  'em 
are  going  to  wear  'em  to  church  next  Sunday,  and  won't 
there  be  a  stir?  Nobody'll  look  at  the  new  orgin.'' 

"I  wish  I  could  go,"  said  Betsy. 

Mrs.  Hawkins  rattled  on:  "Mandy  says  she  took  'em  all 
into  a  jewelry  store,  and  bought  each  one  on  'em  a  breast 
pin,  a  pair  of  earrings,  and  a  putty  ring,  to  remember  her 
by.  Then  she  druv  'em  down  to  the  deepo  in  her  carriage." 

"I  wish  I  could  see  them  with  all  their  fine  things  on," 
said  Betsy,  again. 

"Well,  you  shall,  Betsy,"  said  good-hearted  Mrs.  Haw 
kins.  "I'll  make  Jonas  help  me  wash  the  dishes  Sunday 
mornin',  and  you  shall  go  to  church." 

Betsy's  face  was  wreathed  in  smiles. 

"You're  so  good  to  me,  Mrs.  Hawkins,"  she  cried. 

"Well,"  answered  Mrs.  Hawkins,  "you've  worked  like  a 
Trojan  the  last  week,  and  you  deserve  it.  I  guess  if  I  go  up 
in  the  attic  I  can  git  a  good  look  at  them  as  they're  walking 
home  from  church." 

In  her  excitement  the  old  lady  dropped  a  cup  and  sauce? 
on  the  floor,  and  both  mistress  and  maid  went  down  on 
their  hands  and  knees  to  pick  up  the  pieces. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

"THE   BIRD   OF  LOVE." 

THE  carriage  containing  Quincy  and  Rosa  was  driven 
at  a  rapid  rate  toward  the  station.  There  was  no 
time  to  lose,  as  some  had  already  been  lost  in  the  alterca 
tion  with  Mrs.  Colby.  They  had  proceeded  but  a  short 
distance,  when  Rosa  took  out  a  pocketbook,  and,  lifting 
her  veil,  turned  her  face  to  Quincy. 

What  a  striking  face  it  was !  Large,  dark  blue  eyes,  regu 
lar  features,  a  light  olive  complexion,  with  a  strong  dash  of 
red  in  each  cheek,  full  red  lips,  and  hair  of  almost  raven 
blackness.  Like  lightning  the  thought  flashed  through 
Quincy's  mind,  "What  a  contrast  to  my  Alice!"  for  he  al 
ways  used  the  pronoun  when  he  thought  of  her. 

"Allow  me  to  cancel  part  of  my  indebtedness  to  you/' 
said  Rosa,  in  a  low,  sweet  voice,  and  Quincy  again  thought 
how  pleasant  that  voice  would  be  to  Alice  when  Miss  Very 
was  reading  to  her. 

As  Rosa  spoke  she  handed  Quincy  a  two-dollar  bill  and 
seventy-five  cents  in  currency. 

"'1  owe  you  an  explanation/'  she  continued.  "Mr.  Ernst 
told  me  that  I  must  be  ready  to  accompany  you  the  mo 
ment  you  called,  so  I  packed  and  strapped  my  trunk  last 
evening.  When  I  returned  from  breakfast  this  morning  I 
looked  through  my  pocketbook,  and  found  to  my  surprise 
that  I  lacked  a  quarter  of  a  dollar  of  enough  to  pay  for  my 
week's  lodging.  In  my  haste  I  had  put  my  jewel  case, 
which  contained  the  greater  part  of  my  money,  in  my  trunk, 
and  I  realized  that  there  would  not  be  time  to  unpack  and 
pack  it  again  before  your  arrival.  I  offered  Mrs.  Colby  the 


THE  BIRD   OF  LOVE.  401 

two  seventy-five,  and  told  her  I  would  send  her  the  balance 
in  a  letter  as  soon  as  I  arrived  at  my  destination.  To  my 
astonishment,  she  refused  to  take  it,  saying  that  she  would 
have  the  three  dollars  or  nothing." 

"If  I  had  known  that,"  said  Quincy,  "she  would  have  got 
nothing." 

•  "Oh!  it's  all  right,"  remarked  Rosa,  with  a  smile.  *I 
know  the  poor  woman  has  hard  work  to  make  a  living,  and 
I  also  know  that  she  has  lost  considerable  money  from  per 
sons  failing  to  pay  at  all  or  paying  part  of  their  bills  and 
then  not  sending  the  balance,  as  they  promised  to  do.v 

"And  did  she  get  up  all  that  ugliness  for  a  quarter  of  a 
dollar?"  inquired  Quincy. 

"Oh!  that  wasn't  the  reason  at  all,"  replied  Rosa;  "I've 
always  paid  her  promptly  and  in  advance.  She  was  mad 
because  I  was  going  away.  If  she  lets  the  room  right  off 
she  will  get  double  rent  this  coming  week,  for  it  so  hap 
pened  my  week  ended  last  night." 

"Lodging-house  keepers,"  said  Quincy,  "seem  to  be  a 
class  by  themselves,  and  to  have  peculiar  financial  and 
moral  codes.  Here  we  are  at  the  station,"  he  added,  as  the 
carriage  came  to  a  stop. 

As  Quincy  handed  Rosa  from  the  carriage,  his  observant 
eye  noticed  that  the  hand  placed  in  his  was  small  and  well- 
gloved,  while  the  equally  small  feet  were  encased  in  a  pair 
of  dainty  boots.  "She  is  true  to  her  French  origin/'  he 
soliloquized,  as  they  entered  the  station, — "well-booted, 
well-gloved.  I  am  glad  she  is  a  lady." 

The  train  was  soon  on  its  way  to  Eastborough.  It  was  an 
accommodation,  and  Quincy  had  plenty  of  time  to  point 
out  the  objects  of  interest  on  the  way.  Rosa  was  not  a  lover 
of  the  country.  She  acknowledged  this  to  Quincy,  saying 
that  she  was  born  and  educated  in  the  country,  but  that  she 
preferred  paved  streets  and  brick  sidewalks  to  green  lanes 
and  dusty  roads. 


402  QUINCT  ADAMS    SAWYER. 

Alice  had  not  waited  for  Quincy's  return  to  broach  the 
matter  of  the  gift  of  the  Putnam  house  to  Ezekiel  and 
Huldy.  She  had  simply  asked  Quincy,  so  as  to  assure  her 
self  that  there  was  no  legal  objection  or  reason  why  she 
should  not  make  the  transfer. 

After  breakfast  the  next  morning  she  told  her  uncle  that 
she  wished  to  have  a  talk  with  him  in  the  parlor,  and  when 
they  were  alone  together,  she  stated  her  intentions  to  him, 
as  she  had  to  Quincy.  The  old  gentleman  approved  of  her 
plan,  only  suggesting  that  it  should  be  a  swap;  that  is,  that 
Ezekiel  should  deed  the  house  in  which  they  were,  in 
which,  in  fact,  she  owned  a  half-interest,  to  her,  so  she 
would  be  sure  of  a  home  in  case  she  lost  part  of  her  money, 
or  all  of  it,  or  wished  to  live  in  the  country. 

Most  opportunely,  Ezekiel  and  Huldy  came  over  that 
morning  to  make  a  call,  and  the  matter  was  soon  under  dis 
cussion  in  family  conclave. 

Ezekiel  at  first  objected  strenuously  to  the  gift.  He 
would  buy  the  house,  he  said,  and  pay  so  'much  a  year  on  it, 
but  both  Alice  and  Uncle  Ike  protested  that  it  was  foolish 
for  a  young  couple  to  start  in  life  with  such  a  heavy  debt 
hanging  over  them. 

The  only  circumstance  that  led  him  to  change  his  mind 
and  agree  to  accept  the  Putnam  homestead  as  a  gift  was 
Uncle  Ike's  suggestion  that  he  deed  the  Pettengill  home 
stead  to  Alice,  and  pay  her  all  he  received  for  the  sale  of 
products  from  the  present  Pettengill  farm;  but  'Zekiel 
would  not  accept  any  loan.  He  said  Deacon  Mason  had 
given  his  daughter  five  thousand  dollars  outright,  and  that 
would  be  all  the  cash  they  would  need  to  stock  and  carry  on 
both  the  farms. 

Then  'Zekiel  said  he  might  as  well  settle  on  who  was  to 
live  in  the  two  houses.  He  knew  that  Cobb's  twins  would 
like  to  stay  with  him,  and  he  would  take  them  up  to  the 
Putnam  house  with  him.  Mrs.  Pinkham  had  been  hired 


THE  BIRD  OF  LOVE.  403 

by  the  executors  to  remain  with  Samanthy  until  some  one 
came  to  live  in  the  house.  Ezekiel  said  Samanthy  was  a 
good  girl,  and  he  and  Huldy  both  liked  her,  and  he  felt 
pretty  sure  she'd  be  willing  to  live  with  them,  because  she 
was  used  to  the  house,  and  as  it  was  the  only  one  she'd 
ever  lived  in,  it  would  seem  like  going  away  from  home  if 
she  left  there  and  went  somewhere  else. 

Then  'Zekiel  was  of  the  opinion  that  Abbott  Smith  and 
Billy  Ricker  had  better  board  with  Hiram  and  Mandy,  be 
cause  the  grocery  teams  and  horses  would  have  to  be  kept 
in  the  Pettengill  barn,  as  there  was  no  stable  to  the  grocery 
store.  "  'Twon't  be  stealin'  anythin'  from  Mrs.  Hawkins  if 
they  don't  boardi  with  her,  cuz  none  of  'em  ever  lived  with 
her  afore." 

"Don't  you  think,  'Zekiel,"  asked  Huldy,  "that  Uncle 
Ike  ought  to  come  down  stairs  and  have  a  better  room?  It 
will  be  awful  hot  up  there  in  the  summer.  Alice  and  I  used 
to  play  up  there,  and  in  July  and  August  it  was  hot  enough 
to  roast  eggs,  wasn't  it,  Alice?'' 

Alice,  thus  appealed  to,  said  it  might  have  been  hot 
enough,  but  she  was  positive  that  they  never  did  roast  any 
up  there,  although  she  remembered  setting  the  attic  floor 
on  fire  one  day  with  a  burning  glass.  'Zekiel  remembered 
that,  too,  and  how  they  had  to  put  new  ceilings  on  two 
rooms,  because  he  used  so  much  water  to  put  the  fire  out. 

When  Uncle  Ike  got  a  chance  to  speak,  he  said  to  Huldy, 
"Thank  you,  my  dear  Mrs.  Pettengill,''  with  a  strong  ac 
cent  on  the  Mrs.,  which  made  Huldy  blush  a  rosy  red,  "but 
I  wouldn't  swap  my  old  attic  for  all  the  rest  of  the  rooms 
in  the  house.  My  old  blood  requires  warmth,  and  I  can 
stand  ninety-six  without  asking  for  a  fan.  When  I  come 
up  to  see  you,  you  can  put  me  in  one  of  your  big  square 
rooms,  but  I  sha'n't  stay  long,  because  I  don't  like  them." 

The  noise  of  wheels  was  heard,  and  Huldy  ran  to  the 
window  to  look  out. 

r'Oh,  it's  Mr.  Sawyer,"  said  she;  "and  he's  got  a  young 


404  QUINCY   ADAMS   SAWYER. 

lady  with  him,  and  she's  got  a  trunk.  I  wonder  who  she 
is?  Do  you  know,  Alice?" 

"I  don't  know  who  she  is,"  replied  Alice;  "but  I  can 
imagine  what  she's  here  for." 

"Is  it  a  secret?"  asked  Huldy. 

"No,  not  exactly  a  secret,"  replied  Alice.  "It's  a  busi 
ness  matter.  I  have  a  great  many  things  to  be  read  over  to 
me,  and  considerable  writing  to  do,  and  as  Mr.  Sawyer  is 
going  away,  I  was  obliged  to  have  some  one  to  help  me." 

"Well!"  said  Huldy,  "you'll  miss  Mr.  Sawyer  when  he 
goes  away;  I  did.  Now  you  mustn't  get  jealous,  Mr.  Pet- 
tengill,"  she  said  to  'Zekiel;  "you  know  Mr.  Sawyer  and  I 
were  never  in  love  with  each  other.  That  was  all  village 
gossip,  started  by,  you  know  who,  and  as  for  Mr.  Sawyer 
liking  Lindy  Putnam,  or  she  liking  him,  I  know  better. 
She's  never  got  over  the  loss  of  her  brother  Jones,  who,  it 
seems,  wasn't  her  real  brother,  after  all;  and  Samanthy 
Green  told  me  the  other  day  that  Lindy  wanted  to  marry 
him." 

"I  think  matters  are  getting  rather  too  personal  for 
me,"  said  Uncle  Ike,  rising.  "I  may  get  drawn  into  it  if  I 
stay  any  longer.  I  always  liked  Lindy  Putnam  myself." 
And  the  old  gentleman  laughed  heartily  as  he  left  the 
room. 

"Well,  I  guess  you  and  me'd  better  be  goin',  if  we  want 
to  be  home  at  dinner  time,"  said  'Zekiel  to  Huldy.  Then, 
going  to  his  sister,  he  took  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her 
on  the  cheek.  "You  know,  Alice,"  said  he,  "that  I  ain't 
much  of  a  talker,  but  I  shall  never  forget  how  good  you've 
been  to  me  and  Huldy,  and  if  the  old  house  burns  down  or 
you  get  lonesome,  you'll  always  find  the  latchstring  out  up 
to  the  new  house,  an*  there'll  be  a  room,  an'  board,  an' 
good  care  for  you  as  long  as  you  want  to  stay.  Eh, 
Huldy?"  said  'Zekiel,  turning  to  his  wife. 

"You  know,  'Zekiel,"  replied  the  impulsive  Huldy,  "I've 


THE  BIKD   OF   LOVE.  405 

said  a  dozen  times  that  I  wished  Alice  would  come  and  live 
with  us.  Won't  you,  Alice?"  she  added.  "I  never  had  a 
sister,  and  I  think  it  would  be  delightful  to  have  one  all  to 
myself,  especially,"  she  added  archly,  "when  1  have  her 
brother,  too." 

"I  could  never  live  in  that  house,"  said  Alice,  with  a 
slight  shudder;  "besides,  I  think  my  future  path  in  life  is 
being  marked  out  for  me  by  the  hand  of  Fate,  which  I  am 
powerless  to  resist.  I  am  afraid  that  it  will  take  me  away 
from  you,  my  dear  ones;  but  if  it  does,  I  shall  always  love 
you  both,  and  pray  for  your  happiness  and  success." 

At  the  front  door  'Zekiel  and  Huldy  met  Quincy.  The 
latter  had  turned  Miss  Very  over  to  the  care  of  Mrs.  Max 
well,  and  had  got  one  of  the  twins  to  carry  the  young  lady's 
trunk  to  her  room,  which  was  the  one  formerly  occupied  by 
Mandy.  He  had  then  driven  the  carryall  around  to  the 
barn  and  was  returning,  anxious  to  bear  his  tidings  of  suc 
cess  to  Alice,  when  he  met  the  departing  couple. 

"I  hear  you  are  going  to  leave  us,"  said  Huldy. 

"Who  told  you?"  inquired  Quincy. 

"Alice,"  replied  Huldy;  "and  I  told  her  she'd  miss  you 
very  much  when  you  were  gone.'' 

"I  am  afraid,"  replied  Quincy,  "that  any  service  that  I 
have  rendered  Miss  Pettengill  has  not  been  of  so  important 
a  nature  that  it  would  be  greatly  missed.  I  am  glad  that  I 
have  succeeded  in  securing  her  a  companion  and  assistant 
of  her  own  sex,  which  will  much  more  than  compensate  for 
the  loss  of  my  feeble  services." 

"That's  what  I  don't  like  about  city  folks,"  said  Huldy" 
Pettengill,  as  she  walked  along  the  path,  hanging  on  her 
husband's  arm. 

"What's  that?"  asked  'Zekiel  bluntly. 

"Because,"  continued  Huldy,  "they  use  such  big  words 
to  cover  up  their  real  feelings.  Of  course,  he  wouldn't  let 
on  to  us,  but  any  one  with  half  an  eye  could  see  that  he's 


406  QUINCY   ADAMS    SAWYEB, 

head  over  heels  in  love  with  your  sister  Alice,  and  he'd 
stand  on  his  head  if  she  told  him  to." 

"Well,  Alice  is  too  sensible  a  girl  to  ask  him  to  do  that 
sort  of  thing-/'  said  'Zekiel  frankly.  "Any  way,  I  don't 
believe  she's  in  love  with  him." 

"  'Twould  be  a  great  match  for  her/'  said  Huldy. 

"I  don't  know  'bout  that.  On  general  principles,  I  don't 
believe  in  country  girls  marryin'  city  fellers." 

"I  know  you  don't,"  said  Huldy,  and  she  gave  his  arm  a 
little  squeeze. 

"But,"  continued  'Zekiel,  "Alice  is  different  from  most 
country  girls.  Besides,  she's  lived  in  the  city  and  knows 
city  ways.  Anyway,  I  sha'n't  interfere;  I  know  Mr.  Saw 
yer  is  a  respectable  young  man,  and,  by  George!  when  he 
wants  to  do  anything,  don't  he  jest  put  it  through.  The 
way  he  sarcumvented  that  Strout  was  as  good  as  a  circus/' 

"I  thrnk  I  sarcumvented  that  Strout,  too,"  said  Huldy, 
as  they  reached  the  corner  of  Deacon  Mason's  front  fence. 

"You've  been  quite  a  little  flirt  in  your  day,"  remarked 
'Zekiel,  "but  it's  all  over  now;''  and  he  squeezed  the  little 
hand  that  stole  confidingly  into  his  big,  brawny  one. 

Quincy  at  once  entered  the  parlor  and  found  Alice  seated 
in  her  accustomed  easy-chair. 

"You  have  returned,  Sir  Knight,"  was  the  remark  with 
which  Alice  greeted  him, 

"I  have,  fair  lady/'  replied  Quincy,  in  the  same  vein;  "I 
have  captured  one  of  the  enemy  and  brought  her  as  a  pris 
oner  to  your  castle.  Here  are  some  documents,"  he  con 
tinued,  as  he  placed  the  proofs  in  Alice's  hands,  "that  con 
tain  valuable  secrets,  and  they  will,  no  doubt,  furnish  strong 
evidence  against  the  prisoner/' 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Alice,  holding  up  the  package. 

"They  are  the  proofs  of  three  of  your  stones,"  replied 
Quincy,  relapsing  into  commonplace;  "and  Leopold  says 
they  must  be  read  and  corrected  at  once.  If  we  can  attend 
to  this  during  the  afternoon  and  evening,  I  will  go  up  to 


THE  BIRD   OF  LOVE.  407 

Boston  again  to-morrow  morning'."  Quincy  then  told 
Alice  about  Rosa  and  the  terms  that  he  had  made  with  her, 
and  Alice  expressed  herself  as  greatly  pleased  with  the 
arrangement.  "You  will  find  Miss  Very  a  perfect  lady,'' 
said  Quincy,  "with  a  low,  melodious  voice  that  will  not  jar 
upon  your  ears,  as  mine,  no  doubt,  has  often  done." 

"You  are  unfair  to  yourself,  when  you  say  that,"  re 
marked  Alice  earnestly.  "Your  voice  has  never  jarred 
upon  my  ears,  and  I  have  always  been  pleased  to  listen  to 
you.'' 

Whether  Quincy's  voice  would  have  grown  softer  and 
sweeter  and  his  words  more  impassioned  if  the  interview 
had  continued,  cannot  be  divined,  for  Mrs.  Maxwell  at  that 
moment  opened  the  parlor  door  and  called  out,  "Dinner's 
ready,"  just  as  Mandy  Skinner  used  to  do  in  the  days  gone 
by. 

Miss  Very  was  introduced  to  Alice  and  the  others  at  the 
dinner  table,  and  took  the  seat  formerly  occupied  by  'Ze- 
kiel.  Quincy  consented  to  remain  to  dinner,  as  he  knew  his 
services  would  be  required  in  the  proof  reading.  When 
Cobb's  twins  reached  the  barn,  after  dinner,  Jim  said  to 
Bill,  "Isn't  she  a  stunner!  I  couldn't  keep  my  eyes  ofPn 
her." 

"Neither  could  I,"  rejoined  Bill.  "I  tell  yer,  Jim,  style 
comes  nat'ral  to  city  folks.  I'll  be  durned  if  I  know  whether 
I  had  chicken  or  codfish  for  dinner." 

After  the  noonday  meal  the  three  zealous  toilers  in  the 
paths  of  literature  began  work.  Quincy  read  from  the  man 
uscript,  Rosa  held  the  proofs,  while  Alice  listened  intently, 
and  from  time  to  time  made  changes  in  punctuation  or 
slight  alterations  in  the  language.  No  sentence  had  to  be 
rewritten,  and  when  the  reading  of  the  story,  Was  It 
Signed?  was  finished,  Rosa  said,  "A  remarkably  clean  set 
of  proofs;  only  a  few  changes,  and  those  slight  ones.  In  the 
case  of  very  few  authors  are  their  original  ideas  and  second 


406  QUINCY  ADAMS  SAWYER 

thoughts  so  harmonious.  How  do  you  manage  it,  Miss 
Pettengill?'' 

"Oh,  I  don't  know/'  replied  Alice,  with  a  smile,  "unless 
it  is  that  I  keep  my  original  ideas  in  my  mind  until  they 
reach  the  stage  of  second  thoughts,  and  then  I  have  them 
written  down.'' 

"You  will  find  Miss  Pettengill  very  exact  in  dictation," 
said  Quincy  to  Rosa.  "I  took  that  long  story  there  down  in 
pencil,  and  I  don't  think  I  was  obliged  to  change  a  dozen 
words." 

"To  work  with  Miss  Pettengill,^  remarked  Rosa,  "will  be 
more  of  a  pleasure  than  a  task." 

This  idea  was  re-echoed  in  Quincy's  mind,  and  for  a  mo 
ment  he  had  a  feeling  of  positive  envy  towards  Miss  Very. 
Then  he  thought  that  hers  was  paid  service,  while  his  had 
been  a  labor — of  love.  Yes,  it  might  as  well  be  put  that 
way. 

The  sun  had  sunk  quite  low  in  the  west  when  the  second 
story,  Her  Native  Land,  was  completed.  "How  dramatic!" 
cried  Rosa;  "the  endings  of  those  chapters  are  as  strong  as 
stage  tableaus." 

"It  is  being  dramatized  by  Jameson  of  the  'Daily  Uni 
verse,'"  said  Quincy. 

"I  am  well  acquainted  with  Mr.  Jameson,"  remarked 
Rosa;  "I  belong  to  a  social  club  of  which  he  is  the  presi 
dent.  He  is  a  very  talented  young  man  and  a  great  worker. 
He  once  told  me  that  when  he  began  newspaper  work  he 
wrote  eighteen  hours  out  of  twenty-four  for  a  month,  and 
nearly  every  night  he  woke  tip  and  made  notes  that  he 
wrote  out  in  the  morning.  Do  you  believe  in  unconscious 
mental  cerebration.  Mr.  Sawyer?" 

"I'm  afraid  not,'*  replied  Quincy,  laughing;  "I  never 
had  ideas  enough  to  keep  my  brain  busy  all  day,  much  less 
supply  it  with  work  at  night." 

"Mr  Sawyer  :s  always  unfair  to  himself,"  remarked  Alice 
$O  Miss  Very.  "As  for  myself,  I  will  answer  your  question 


THB  BIRD  OF  LOVE,  409 

in  the  affirmative.  I  have  often  gone  to  bed  with  only  the 
general  idea  of  a  story  in  my  mind,  and  have  awakened 
with  the  details  all  thought  out  and  properly  placed." 

"1  think  it  best  to  postpone  the  reading  of  the  last  story 
until  after  supper,"  said  Quincy. 

Alice  assented,  and,  turning  to  Rosa,  asked,  "Do  you  like 
the  country,  Miss  Very?" 

"To  speak  honestly,''  replied  Rosa,  "I  do  not.  I  told  Mr. 
Sawyer  so  on  the  train.  It  is  hotter  in  the  country  than  it 
is  in  the  city.  I  can't  bear  the  ticking  of  a  clock  in  my 
room,  and  I  think  crickets  and  owls  are  more  nerve-destroy 
ing  than  clocks,  and  I  positively  detest  anything  that  buzzes 
and  stings,  like  bees,  and  wasps,  and  hornets.'' 

"But  don't  you  like  cows,  and  sheep,  and  horses?''  asked 
Alice;  "I  love  them." 

"And  I  don't,"  said  Rosa  frankly.  "I  like  beefsteak  and 
roast  lamb,  but  I  never  saw  a  cow  that  didn't  have  a  fero 
cious  glare  in  its  eye  when  it  looked  at  me."  Both  Quincy 
and  Alice  laughed  heartily.  "As  for  horses,"  continued 
Rosa,  "I  never  drive  alone.  When  I'm  with  some  one  I 
alternate  between  hope  and  fear  until  I  reach  my  destina 
tion." 

"I  trust  you  were  more  hopeful  than  fearful  on  your  way 
from  Eastborough  Centre,'*  said  Quincy. 

"Oh!  I  saw  at  a  glance,''  remarked  Rosa,  "that  you  were 
a  skilful  driver,  and  I  trusted  you  implicitly." 

"I  have  had  to  rely  a  great  deal  upon  Mr.  Sawyer,"  re 
marked  Alice,  "and,  like  yourself,  I  have  always  placed  the 
greatest  confidence  in  him.  Huldy  told  me  this  morning, 
Mr.  Sawyer,  that  I  would  miss  you  very  much,  and  I  know 
I  shall." 

"But  you  will  nave  Miss  Very  with  you  constantly,"  said 
Quincy. 

ftOh!  she  does  not  like  the  country ,**  continued  Alice, 
"and  she  will  get  homesick  in  a  little  while." 

"One's  likes  and  one's  duties  often  conflict,"  said  Rosa? 


ilO  QUINCY  ADAMS  SAWYER. 

and  a  grave  look  settled  upon  her  face.  "But  how  can  you 
write  your  book  down  here,  Miss  Pettengill?  You  will 
have  to  consult  hundreds  of  books,  if  you  intend  to  write  an 
historical  novel,  as  Mr.  Sawyer  told  me  you  did.  You  ought 
to  have  access  to  the  big  libraries  in  Boston,  and,  besides,  in 
the  second-hand  bookstores  you  can  buy  such  treasures  for 
a  mere  song,  if  you  will  only  spend  the  time  to  hunt  for 
them." 

"That  reminds  me,"  broke  in  Quincy,  "that  my  aunt, 
Mrs.  Chessman, — she  is  my  mother's  only  sister,  who  lives 
on  Mt.  Vernon  Street, — wished  me  to  extend  a  cordial  invi 
tation  to  you  two  young  ladies  to  visit  her,  while  I  am  get 
ting  your  summer  home  ready  for  you.  She  suggests  Nan- 
tucket  as  the  best  place  for  work,  but  with  every  oppor 
tunity  for  enjoyment,  when  work  becomes  a  burden." 

"Oh,  that  will  be  delightful,"  cried  Rosa.  "I  love  the 
sea,  and  there  we  shall  have  it  all  around  us;  and  at  night, 
the  great  dome  of  Heaven,  studded  with  stars,  will  reach 
down  to  the  sea  on  every  side,  and  they  say  at  'Sconset,  on 
the  east  end  of  the  island,  that  when  the  breakers  come  in 
the  sight  is  trulv  magnificent/' 

Quincy  was  inwardly  amused  at  Rosa's  enthusiasm,  but 
it  served  his  purpose  to  encourage  it,  so  he  said,  "I  wish 
Aunt  Ella  were  her  to  join  forces  with  Miss  Very.  You 
would  find  it  hard  work  to  resist  both  of  them,  Miss  Pet- 
tengffi." 

"You  mean  all  three  of  you,"  said  Alice,  with  a  smile. 
j    'If  we  go  to  Nantucket,"  added  Rosa,  "I  shall  have  to 
Spend  a  week  in  the  city,  and  perhaps  more.     I  have  no 
dresses  suitable  for  so  long  a  residence  at  the  beach.'' 

"Neither  have  T,"  coincided  Alice,  with  a  laugh. 

There  the  matter  waa  dropped.  Quincy  knew  too  much 
to  press  the  question  to  a  decision  that  evening.  He  had 
learned  by  experience  that  Alice  never  said  yes  or  no  until 
her  mind  was  made  up,  and  he  knew  that  the  answer  was 
more  likely  to  be  favorable  if  he  gave  her  plenty  of  time 


THE  BIRD   OF  LOVE.  411 

for  reflection;  besides,  he  thought  that  Alice  might  wish  to 
know  more  particularly  what  his  aunt  said,  for  she  would 
be  likely  to  consider  that  his  aunt  must  have  some  reason 
for  giving  such  an  invitation  to  two  persons  who  were  vir 
tually  strangers  to  her. 

After  supper,  the  third  story,  How  He  Lost  Both  Name 
and  Fortune,  was  read  and  corrected,  and  it  was  the  unu 
sually  late  hour  of  eleven  o'clock  before  the  lights  in  the 
Pettengill  house  were  extinguished.  It  was  past  midnight 
when  Quincy  sought  his  room  at  Mrs.  Hawkins's  boarding 
house,  and  the  picture  of  Alice  Pettengill,  that  he  had  pur 
loined  so  long  ago,  stood  on  a  little  table  at  the  head  of  his 
bed,  leaning  against  a  large  family  Bible,  which  he  found 
in  the  room. 

The  next  morning  he  was  up  early,  and  visited  the  gro 
cery  store.  Mr.  Strout  and'  Hiram  both  assured  him  that 
business  had  picked  up  amazingly,  and  was  really  "splen 
did/'  The  new  wagons  were  building  up  trade  very  fast. 
Billy  Ricker  went  over  to  Montrose  for  orders  Monday, 
Wednesday,  and  Friday  mornings,  and  delivered  them  in 
the  afternoons.  This  gave  Abbott  Smith  a  chance  to  post 
up  the  books  on  those  days,  for  he  had  been  made  book 
keeper.  He  went  to  Eastborough  Centre  and  Westvale, 
the  new  name  given  to  West  Eastborough  at  the  last  town 
meeting,  Tuesday,  Thursday,  and  Saturday  mornings.  He 
delivered  goods  on  the  afternoons  of  those  days,  which 
gave  him  an  opportunity  to  spend  Sunday  at  home  with  his 
father  and  his  family. 

When  Quincy  reached  the  Pettengill  house,  Mrs.  Max 
well  informed  him  that  Miss  Pettengill  was  in  the  parlor 
alone.  After  greeting  Alice,  Quincy  asked,  "But  where  is 
Miss  Very?" 

"I  told  her  I  should  not  need  her  services  until  after  I 
had  seen  you,"  she  replied.  "I  have  a  question  to  ask  you 
Mr,  Sawyer,  and  I  know  you  will  give  me  a  truthful  an- 


412  QUINCY    ADAMS    SAWYER. 

swer.  What  led  your  aunt  to  invite  me  to  come  and  visit 
her?" 

Quincy  knew  that  Alice  had  been  considering"  the  mat 
ter,  and  this  one  simple  question,  to  which  she  expected  a 
truthful  answer,  was  the  crucial  test. 

He  did  not  hesitate  in  replying.  If  he  did,  he  know  the 
result  would  be  fatal  to  his  hopes. 

"Only  the  promptings  of  her  own  good  nature.  She  is 
one  of  the  warmest-hearted  women  in  the  world,"  contin 
ued  Quincy.  "I  will  tell  you  just  how  it  happened.  I  told 
her  I  had  found  an  assistant  to  help  you  in  your  work,  and 
that  the  next  thing-  was  to  fix  upon  a  place  for  a  summer 
residence.  I  asked  her  opinion,  and  after  considering  the 
advantages  and  disadvantages  of  a  score  of  places,  she 
finally  settled  upon  Nantucket  as  being  the  most  desirable. 
Then  she  said,  'While  you  are  finding  a  place  and  getting  it 
ready  for  them,  ask  Miss  Pettengill  to  come  and  visit  me 
and  bring  her  friend.  Tell  her  that  I  am  rich,  as  far  as 
money  goes,  but  poor  in  love  and  companionship.  Tell 
them  both  that  I  shall  love  to  have  them  come  and  will  do 
everything  I  can  to  make  their  visit  a  pleasant  one.'  Those 
were  her  words  as  nearly  as  I  can  remember  them;"  and 
Quincy  waited  silently  for  the  decision. 

It  soon  came.  Alice  went  to  him  and  extended  her  hand, 
which  Quincy  took. 

"Tell  her/'  said  Alice  in  her  quiet  way,  "that  I  thank 
her  very  much  and  that  we  will  come." 

"How  soon?"  inquired  Quincy  anxiously  and  rather  ab 
ruptly. 

"In  a  few  days,"  replied  Alice.  "I  can  get  ready  much 
sooner  with  Miss  Very  to  help  me." 

She  withdrew  the  hand,  which  she  had  unconsciously 
allowed  to  remain  in  his  so  long,  and  a  slight  flush  mounted 
to  her  cheek,  for  Quincy  had  equally  unconsciously  given 
it  a  gentle  pressure  as  he  relinquished  it. 

"I  must  do  up  these  proofs,"  said  he,  going  to  the  table. 


THE  BIKD  OF  LOYE.  413 

"I  will  get  the  next  train  to  Boston.  I  will  be  back  to 
morrow  noon,  and  in  the  afternoon  I  will  drive  over  to 
Montrose  about  that  deed  of  the  Putnam  house.  I  know 
Aunt  Ella  will  be  delighted  to  hear  that  you  are  coming." 
But  he  said  nothing  about  his  own  delight  at  being  the 
bearer  of  the  tidings. 

When  he  had  gone,  Alice  sat  in  her  chair  as  she  had 
many  a  time  before  and  thought.  As  she  sat  there  she  real 
ized  more  strongly  than  she  had  ever  done  that  if  Fate  was 
marking  out  her  course  for  her,  it  had  certainly  chosen  as 
its  chief  instrument  the  masterful  young  man  who  had  just 
left  her. 

The  remainder  of  that  day  and  the. morning  of  the  next 
Alice  spent  in  dictating  to  Rosa  a  crude  general  outline  of 
Blennerhassett.  During  the  work  she  was  obliged,  natur 
ally,  to  address  Rosa  many  times,  and  uniformly  called 
her  Miss  Very.  Finally  Rosa  said,  "Wouldn't  you  just  as 
soon  call  me  Rosa?  Miss  Very  seems  so  stiff  and  formal." 

"I  hope  you  will  not  consider  me  uncompanionable  or 
set  in  my  ways,"  remarked  Alice.  "We  are  working,  you 
know,  and  not  playing,"  she  continued  with  a  sweet  smile. 
"I  have  no  doubt  you  are  worthy  of  both  my  esteem  and 
love,  but  I  have  known  you  less  than  a  day  and  such  things 
come  slowly  with  me.  Let  me  call  you  Miss  Very,  because 
you  are  that  to  me  now.  When  the  time  comes,  as  I  feel  it 
will,  to  call  you  Rosa,  it  shall  come  from  a  full  .heart. 
When  I  call  you  Rosa,  it  will  be  because  I  love  you,  and, 
after  that,  nothing  will  ever  change  my  feelings  towards 
you." 

"I  understand  you,''  replied  Rosa.  "I  will  work  and 
wait." 

Quincy  arrived  at  about  the  same  time  of  day  that  he 
did  when  he  came  with  Rosa.  Miss  Very  had  gone  to  her 
room,  so  that  he  saw  Alice  alone.  He  told  her  that  his  aunt 
was  greatly  pleased  at  her  acceptance  and  would  be  ready 
fro  receive  her  at  any  time  that  it  was  convenient  for  her  to 


414  QUINCY  ADAMS  SAWYEBo 

come.  He  proffered  his  services  to  aid  her  in  getting  ready 
for  the  journey,  but  she  told  him  that  with  Miss  Very's  help 
she  would  need  no  other  assistance. 

"I  have  another  matter  of  business  to  speak  about,"  con 
tinued  she,  "and  if  you  will  kindly  attend  to  that,  when  you 
go  to  Montrose,  it  will  oblige  me  very  much.  You  are  al 
ways  doing  something  to  make  me  your  debtor,"  she  added 
with  a  smile. 

"I  would  do  more  if  you  would  allow  me,"  replied 
Quincy. 

"The  fact  is,"  said  Alice,  "  'Zekiel  does  not  wish  to  bon 
/ow  any  money,  nor  would  he  accept  the  gift  of  the  Put 
nam  homestead  unless  he,  in  turn,  deeded  this  house  and 
farm  to  me.  He  is  going  to  run  this  farm  and  pay  me  what 
he  gets  from  the  sale  of  products.  If  you  will  have  Squire 
Rundlett  draw  up  both  deeds  and  the  agreement,  the  whole 
matter  can  be  fixed  before  I  go  away." 

Quincy  promised  to  give  his  attention  to  the  matter  that 
afternoon.  He  drove  up  to  his  boarding  house  and  hitched 
his  horse  at  the  front  door.  Mrs.  Hawkins  saw  him  enter 
and  take  his  seat  at  the  dinner  table.  "There's  that  Mr. 
Sawyer;  he's  slept  in  this  house  just  one  night  and  eaten 
just  one  meal  up  to  this  noon  for  nigh  on  a  week.  Them 
city  folks  must  have  Injun  rubber  stummicks  and  cast  iron 
backs  or  they  couldn't  eat  in  so  many  different  places  and 
sleep  in  so  many  different  beds.  Why,  if  I  go  away  and 
stay  over  night,  when  I  git  home  I'm  allus  sicker'n  a  horse 
and  tired  enough  to  drop.'' 

Quincy  went  to  Montrose  that  afternoon  and  saw  Squire 
Rundlett.  The  latter  promised  to  make  the  papers  out  the 
next  day,  and  said  he  would  bring  them  over  for  signing 
the  following  morning.  Quincy  drove  down  to  Deacon 
Mason's  and  told  'Zekiel  when  to  be  on  hand,  and  after 
leaving  the  team  in  the  Pettengill  barn,  saw  Alice  and  in 
formed  her  of  the  Squire's  proposed  visit.  He  told  her 


THE  BIRD  OF  LOVE.  415 

that  he  would  come  down  that  morning  to  act  as  a  witness, 
if  his  services  were  required. 

He  spent  the  next  day  at  the  grocery  store,  going  over 
the  stock  with  Strout  and  Abbott  Smith,  and  had  a  list 
made  of  articles  that  they  thought  it  would  be  advisable  to 
carry  in  the  future.  He  told  Strout  that  he  would  visit 
some  wholesale  grocery  houses  in  Boston  and  have  sam 
ples  sent  down. 

"Mr.  Sawyer  is  improvinY'  said  Mrs.  Hawkins  to  Betsy 
the  next  morning  after  breakfast.  "He's  slept  in  his  bed 
two  nights  runnin',  and  he's  eat  four  square  meals,  and 
seemed  to  enjoy  them,  too.  I  guess  he  didn't  git  much 
when  he  was  jumpin'  'round  so  from  one  place  to  another." 

Squire  Rundlett  kept  his  word,  and  the  legal  documents 
were  duly  signed  and  executed.  Alice  told  the  Squire  that 
she  was  going  away  for  several  months,  and  that  she  would 
undoubtedly  send  to  him  from  time  to  time. 

"My  dear  Miss  Pettengill,"  replied  the  gallant  Squire, 
"you  shall  have  all  you  ask  for  if  I  have  to  sell  my  best 
horse  and  mortgage  my  house.  But  I  don't  think  it  will 
be  necessary/'  he  added.  "Some  more  dividends  and  in 
terest  have  come  in  and  I  have  more  than  a  thousand  dol 
lars  to  your  credit  now." 

After  the  Squire  had  left,  Alice  told  Ouincy  that  her 
preparations  were  all  made,  and  that  she  would  be  ready 
to  go  to  Boston  the  next  day.  The  mid-day  train  was  fixed 
upon.  After  dinner  that  day,  Quincy  informed  Mrs.  Haw 
kins  that  he  wished  to  pay  his  bill  in  full,  as  he  shouldi 
leave  for  good  the  next  day. 

Holding  the  money  in  her  hand,  Mrs.  Hawkins  entered 
the  kitchen  and  addressed  Betsy. 

"Just  what  I  expected,"  said  she;  "jest  as  that  Mr.  Saw 
yer  got  to  stayin'  home  nights  and  eating  his  meals  like  a 
Christian,  he  ups  an'  gits.  I  guess  it'll  be  a  dry  summer. 
I  kinder  thought  them  two  boys  over  to  the  grocery  would 
come  here,  but  I  understand  they're  goin'  down  to  Petten- 


416  QUINCY    ADAMS    SAWYEK. 

gill's,  and  somebody  told  me  that  Strout  goes  over  to  East- 
borough  Centre  every  Sunday  now.  I  s'pose  he's  tryin' 
to  shine  up  again  to  that  Bessie  Chisholm,  that  he  used  to 
be  sweet  on.  When  he  goes  to  keepin'  house  there'll  be 
another  boarder  gone;"  and  the  poor  woman,  having  bor 
rowed  enough  trouble,  sat  down  and  wiped  a  supposed  tear 
out  of  each  eye  with  her  greasy  apron. 

Ouincy  reached  Aunt  Ella's  residence  with  the  young 
ladies  about  noon.  Aunt  Ella  gave  the  three  travellers  a 
hearty  welcome,  and  the  young  ladies  were  shown  at  once 
to  their  rooms,  which  were  on  the  third  floor  at  the  front  of 
the  house.  They  were  connected,  so  that  Rosa  could  be 
close  at  hand  in  case  Alice  should  need  assistance. 

While  the  footman  and  Buttons  were  taking  -the  trunks 
upstairs,  Quincy  asked  his  aunt  if  he  could  leave  his  trunk 
there  for  a  short  time.  "I  do  not  wish  to  take  it  home," 
lie  said,  "until  after  I  have  the  ladies  settled  at  Naritucket. 
The  carriage  is  waiting  outside  and  I  am  going  to  get  the 
one  o'clock  train.'' 

"I  will  take  good  care  of  your  trunk,"  said  Aunt  Ella, 
"and  you,  too,  if  you  will  come  and  live  with  me.  But 
can't  you  stop  to  lunch  with  us?"  she  asked.  But  Quincy 
declined,  and  requesting  his  aunt  to  say  good-by  to  the 
young  ladies  for  him,  he  entered  the  carriage  and  was 
driven  off. 

After  luncheon,  which  was  served  in  the  dining-room, 
General  Chessman  and  Aides-de-Camp  Pettengill  and  Very 
held  a  counsel  of  war  in  the  General's  private  tent.  It  was 
decided  that  the  mornings  should  be  devoted,  for  a  while, 
at  least,  to  shopping  and  visiting  modistes  and  milliners. 
Miss  Very  was  also  to  give  some  of  her  time  to  visits  to  the 
libraries  and  the  second-hand  bookstores  looking  for  books 
that  would  be  of  value  to  Alice  in  her  work.  The  afternoons 
were  to  be  passed  in  conversation  and  in  listening  to  Miss 
Very's  reading  from  the  books  that  she  had  purchased  or 
taken  from  the  libraries.  The  evenings  were  to  be  filled  up 


THE  BIRD   OF  LOVE.  4H 

with  music,  and  the  first  one  disclosed  the  pleasing  fact 
that  Miss  Very  had  a  rich,  full  contralto  voice  that  had 
been  well  cultivated  and  that  she  could  play  Beethoven  or 
the  songs  of  the  day  with  equal  facility. 

While  the  feminine  trio  were  thus  enjoying-  themselves 
in  Boston  with  an  admixture  of  work  and  play,  Quincy  was 
busily  engaged  at  Nantucket  in  building  a  nest  for  them, 
as  he  called  it. 

He  had  found  a  large,  old-fashioned  house  on  the  bluff 
at  the  north  shore,  overlooking  the  harbor,  owned  by  Mrs. 
Gibson.  She  was  a  widow  with  two  children,  one  a  boy  of 
about  nineteen,  named  Thomas,  and  the  other  a  girl  of 
twelve,  named  Dorothy,  but  generally  designated  as 
Tommy  and  Dolly. 

Mrs.  Gibson  consented  to  let  her  second  floor  for  a  period 
of  four  months,  and  to  supply  them  with  meals.  The  price 
was  fixed  upon,  and  Quincy  knew  he  had  been  unusually 
lucky  in  securing  so  desirable  a  location  at  such  a  reason 
able  price. 

There  were  three  rooms,  one  a  large  front  room,  with  a 
view  of  the  harbor,  and  back  of  it  two  sleeping  rooms,  look 
ing  out  upon  a  large  garden  at  the  rear  of  the  house. 
Quincy  mentally  surveyed  the  large  room  and  marked  the 
places  with  a  piece  of  chalk  upon  the  carpet  where  the 
piano  and  the  bookcase  were  to  go.  Then  he  decided  that 
the  room  needed  a  lounge  and  a  d'esk  with  all  necessary 
fixtures  and  stationery  for  Rosa  to  work  at.  There  were 
some  stiff-backed  chairs  in  the  room,  but  he  concluded  that 
a  low  easy-chair,  like  the  one  Alice  had  at  home,  and  a 
couple  of  wicker  rocking  chairs,  which  would  be  cool  and 
comfortable  during  the  hot  summer  days,  were  absolutely 
essential. 

He  then  returned  to  Boston,  hired  an  upright  piano  and 
purchased  the  other  articles,  including  a  comfortable  office- 
chair  to  go  with  the  desk.  He  was  so  afraid  that  he  would 
forget  some  article  of  stationery  that  he  made  a  list  and 


418  QUINCY  ADAMS  SAWYER. 

checked  it  off.  But  this  did  not  satisfy  him.  He  spent  a 
whole  morning  in  different  stationery  stores  looking  over 
their  stocks  to  make  sure  that  he  had  omitted  nothing. 
The  goods  were  packed  and  shipped  by  express  to  Mrs. 
Thomas  Gibson,  Nantucket,  Mass.  Then,  and  not  till  then, 
(did  Quincy  seek  his  aunt's  residence  with  the  intelligence 
that  the  nest  was  builded  and  ready  for  the  birds.  When 
he  informed  the  ladies  that  everything  was  ready  for  their 
reception  at  their  summer  home,  Aunt  Ella  said  that  their 
departure  would  have  to  be  delayed  for  a  few  days,  as  the 
delinquent  dressmakers  had  failed  to  deliver  certain  arti 
cles  of  wearing  apparel.  This  argument  was,  of  course, 
unanswerable,  and  Quincy  devoted  the  time  to  visiting  the 
wholesale  grocers,  as  he  had  promised  Strout  that  he  would 
do,  and  to  buying  and  shipping  a  long  list  of  books  that 
Miss  Very  informed  him  Miss  Pettengill  needed  for  her 
work.  He  learned  that  during  his  absence  the  proofs  of 
The  Man  Without  a  Tongue  had  been  brought  over  by  Mr. 
Ernst  and  read  and  corrected,  Aunt  Ella  taking  Quincy's 
place  as  reader. 

At  last  all  was  ready,  and  on  the  tenth  of  May  a  party  of 
three  ladies  and  one  gentleman  was  driven  to  the  station  in 
time  for  the  one  o'clock  train.  They  had  lunched  early 
and  the  whole  party  was  healthy,  happy,  and  in  the  best  of 
spirits.  Then  came  the  leave-takings.  The  two  young  la 
dies  and  the  gentleman  sped  away  upon  the  train,  while  the 
middle-aged  lady  started  for  home  in  her  carriage,  telling 
herself  a  dozen  times  on  the  way  that  she  knew  she  would 
be  lonesomer  than  ever  when  she  got  there. 

The  trip  by  train  and  boat  was  uneventful.  Alice  sat 
quietly  and  enjoyed  the  salt  sea  breeze,  while  both  Quincy 
and  Rosa  entertained  her  with  descriptions  of  the  bits  of 
land  and  various  kinds  of  sailing  craft  that  came  in  sight. 
It  was  nearly  seven  o'clock  when  the  steamer  rounded 
Brant  Point.  In  a  short  time  it  was  moored  to  the  wharf, 
and  the  party,  with  their  baggage,  were  conveyed  swiftly 


THE  BIRD  OF  LOVE.  419 

to  Mrs.  Gibson's,  that  lady  having  been  notified  by  Quincy 
to  expect  them  at  any  moment.  He  did  not  enter  the 
house.  He  told  Miss  Very  to  address  him  care  of  his  aunt 
if  they  needed  anything,  and  that  Mr.  Ernst  and  himself 
would  come  down  when  Miss  Pettengill  had  completed  two 
or  three  chapters  of  her  book.  Quincy  then  bade  them 
good-by  and  was  driven  to  a  modest  hotel  close  to  the 
steamboat  wharf.  He  took  the  morning  boat  to  Boston, 
and  that  afternoon  informed  Aunt  Ella  of  the  safe  arrival 
of  his  fair  charges. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  now?"  asked  Aunt  Ella. 

"I'm  going  to  find  my  father,"  replied  Quincy,  "and! 
through  him  secure  introductions  to  the  other  members  of 
my  family." 

"Good-by,"  said  Aunt  Ella;  "if  they  don't  treat  you  well 
come  and  stay  with  me  and  we  will  go  to  Old  Orchard  to 
gether  about  the  first  of  June.  I  never  skip  out  the  last  of 
April,  because  I  always  enjoy  having  a  talk  with  the  as 
sessor  when  he  comes  around  in  May." 

When  Rosa  took  her  seat  at  the  new  desk  next  morning, 
she  exclaimed  with  delight,  "What  a  nice  husband  Mr. 
Sawyer  would  make!" 

"What  makes  you  think  so?"  inquired  Alice  gravely. 

"Because  he'd  be  such  a  good  hand  to  go  shopping,'* 
Rosa  answered.  "I've  been  all  over  this  desk  twice  and  I 
don't  believe  he  has  forgotten  a  single  thing  that  we  are 
likely  to  need." 

"Good  work  requires  good  tools,"  remarked  Alice. 

"And  a  good  workman,"  interposed  Rosa. 

"Then  we  have  every  adjunct  for  success,"  said  Alice, 
"and  we  will  commence  just  where  we  left  off  at  Mrs. 
Chessman's." 

The  work  on  the  book  progressed  famously.  Alice  wasi 
in  fine  mental  condition  and  Rosa  seemingly  took  as  much 
interest  in  its  progress  as  did  her  employer.  In  three 
weeks  the  three  opening  chapters  had  been  written.  "I 


420  QUINCY  ADAMS  SAWYER, 

wonder  what  Mr.  Sawyer  and  Mr.  Ernst  will  think  of  that?** 
said  Alice,  as  Rosa  wrote  the  last  line  of  the  third  chapter. 

"I  am  going  to  write  to  Mr.  Sawyer  to-day.  We  must 
have  those  booki  before  we  can  go  much  farther.  Would 
it  not  be  well  to  tell  him  that  we  are  ready  for  our  audi 
ence?" 

Alice  assented,  and  the  letter  reached  Quincy  one  Fri 
day  evening,  it  being  his  last  call  on  his  aunt  before  her 
departure  for  Old  Orchard.  "Give  my  love  to  both  of 
them,''  said  Aunt  Ella,  "and  tell  Alice  I  send  her  a  kiss.  I 
won't  tell  you  how  to  deliver  it;  you  will  probably  find  some 
way  before  you  come  back." 

Quincy  protested  that  he  could  not  undertake  to  deliver 
it,  but  his  aunt  only  laughed,  kissed  him,  bade  him  good-by, 
and  told  him  to  be  sure  and  come  down  to  Maine  to  see 
her. 

Quincy  and  Leopold  took  the  Saturday  afternoon  boat 
and  arrived,  as  usual,  about  seven  o'clock.  They  both  re 
paired  to  the  hotel  previously  patronized  by  Quincy,  hav 
ing  decided  to  defer  their  call  upon  the  young  ladies  until 
Sunday  morning.  It  was  a  bright,  beautiful  day,  not  a 
cloud  was  to  be  seen  in  the  broad,  blue  expanse  above  them. 
A  cool  breeze  was  blowing  steadily  from  the  southwest, 
and  as  the  young  men  walked  down  Centre  Street  towards 
the  Cliff,  Leopold  remarked  that  he  did  not  wonder  that  the 
Nantucketers  loved  their  "tight  little  isle''  and  were  sorry 
to  leave  it.  "One  seems  to  be  nearer  Heaven  here  than  he 
does  in  a  crowded  city,  don't  he,  Quincy?"  Quincy  thought 
to  himself  that  his  Heaven  was  in  Nantucket,  and  that  he 
was  very  near  to  it,  but  he  did  not  choose  to  utter  these 
feelings  to  his  friend,  so  he  merely  remarked  that  the  sky 
did  seem  much  nearer. 

They  soon  reached  Mrs.  Gibson's  and  were  shown  di 
rectly  to  the  young  ladies'  parlor  and  library,  for  it  an 
swered  both  purposes.  They  were  attired  in  two  creations 
of  Mrs.  Chessman's  dressmaker,  Aunt  Ella  having  selected 


THE  BIRD  OF  LOVE.  421 

the  materials  and  designed  the  costumes,  for  which  art 
she  had  a  great  talent.  Rosa's  dress  was  of  a  dark  rose  tint, 
with  revers  and  a  V-shaped  neck,  filled  in  with  tulle  of  a 
dark  green  hue.  The  only  other  trimming  on  the  dress  was 
a  green  silk  cord  that  bordered  the  edges  of  the  revers  and 
the  bottom  of  the  waist.  As  Quincy  looked  at  her,  for  she 
sat  nearest  to  the  door,  she  reminded  him  of  a  beautiful 
red  rose,  and  the  green  leaves  which  enhanced  its  beauty. 
Then  his  eyes  turned  quickly  to  Alice,  who  sat  in  her  easy- 
chair,  near  the  window.  Her  dress  was  of  light  blue,  with 
square-cut  neck,  filled  in  with  creamy  white  lace.  In  her 
hair  nestled  a  flower,  light  pink  in  color,  and  as  Quincy 
looked  at  her  he  thought  of  the  little  blue  flower  called! 
forget-me-not,  and  recalled  the  fact  that  wandering  one 
day  in  the  country,  during  his  last  year  at  college,  he  had 
come  upon  a  little  brook,  both  sides  of  which,  for  hundreds 
of  feet,  were  lined  with  masses  of  this  modest  little  flower. 
Ah!  but  this  one  forget-me-not  was  'more  to  him  than  all 
the  world  beside. 

The  greetings  were  soon  over,  and  Quincy  was  assured 
by  both  young  ladies  that  they  were  happy  and  contented, 
and  that  every  requisite  for  their  comfort  had  been  supplied 
by  Mrs.  Gibson. 

The  reading  trien  began.  Rosa  possessed  a  full,  flexible, 
dramatic  voice,  and  the  strong  passages  were  delivered  with 
great  fervor,  while  the  sad  or  sentimental  ones  were  tinged 
with  a  tone  of  deep  pathos. 

At  the  conclusion  Alice  said,  "I  wish  Miss  Very  could 
read  my  book  to  the  publishers." 

"You  forget/'  remarked  Leopold,  with  a  laugh,  "that 
reading  it  to  me  will  probably  amount  to  the  same  thing/' 

A  merry  party  gathered  about  Mrs.  Gibson's  table  at 
dinner,  after  which  they  went  for  a  drive  through  the 
streets  of  the  quaint  old  town.  Quincy  had,  as  the  phre 
nologists  say,  a  great  bump  for  locality.  Besides,  he  had 
studied  a  map  of  the  town  while  coming  down,  and,  as  he 


422  QUINCY  ADAMS  SAWYER. 

remarked,  they  couldn't  get  lost  for  any  great  length  of 
time,  as  Nantucket  was  an  island,  and  the  water  supplied 
a  natural  boundary  to  prevent  their  getting  too  far  out  of 
their  way. 

While  Dolly  Gibson  was  helping  her  mother  by  wiping 
the  dinner  dishes,  she  said,  with  that  air  of  judicial  convic 
tion  that  is  shown  by  some  children,  that  she  guessed  that 
the  lady  in  the  red  dress  was  Mr.  Leopold's  girl,  and  that 
the  blind  lady  in  the  blue  dress  was  Mr.  Quincy's. 

After  a  light  supper  they  again  gathered  in  the  parlor 
and  an  hour  was  devoted  to  music.  Leopold  neither  played 
nor  sang,  but  he  was  an  attentive  and  critical  listener.  It 
was  a  beautiful  moonlight  night,  and  Leopold  asked  Rosa 
if  she  would  not  like  to  take  a  walk  up  on  the  Cliff.  She 
readily  consented,  but  Alice  pleasantly  declined  Quincy's 
invitation  to  accompany  them,  and  for  the  first  time  since 
the  old  days  at  Mason's  Corner,  he  and  she  were  alone  to 
gether. 

They  talked  of  Eastborough  and  Mason's  Corner  and 
Aunt  Ella  for  a  while.  Then  conversation  lagged  and  they 
sat  for  a  time  in  a  satisfied,  peaceful  silence. 

Suddenly  Quincy  spoke.  "I  had  almost  forgotten,  Miss 
Pettengill,  I  bought  a  new  song  yesterday  morning,  and  I 
brought  it  with  me.  If  you  have  no  objection  I  will  try, 
it  over." 

"I  always  enjoy  your  singing,"  she  replied. 

He  ran  down  stairs  and  soon  returned  with  the  music. 
He  seated  himself  at  the  piano  and  played  the  piece  through 
with  great  expression. 

"It  is  a  beautiful  melody,"  remarked  Alice.  "What  is 
it?" 

"It  is  a  German  song,"  replied  Quincy,  "by  Reichardt. 
It  is  called  'Love's  Request.'  I  will  sing  it  this  time." 

And  he  did  sing  it  with  all  the  force  and  fervor  of  a 
noble,  manly  nature,  speaking  out  his  love  covertly  in  the 
words  of  another,  but  hoping  in  his  heart  that  the  beautiful 


THE  BIRD   OF  LOVE.  423 

girl  who  listened  to  him  would  forget  the  author  and 
think  only  of  the  singer.  How  many  times  young  lovers 
have  tried  this  artful  trick,  and  in  what  proportion  it  has 
been  successful  only  Heaven  knows. 

"The  words  are  very  pretty,  are  they  not?"  said  Alice. 
"I  was  listening  so  closely  to  the  melody  that  I  did  not 
catch  them  all.'' 

"I  will  read  them  to  you,"  rejoined  Quincy,  and  going* 
to  the  window,  where  the  light  was  still  bright  enough,  he 
read  the  words  of  the  song  in  a  low,  impassioned  voice: 

<7Now  the  day  is  slowly  waning, 

Evening  breezes  softly,  softly  moan; 
Wilt  thou  ne'er  heed  my  complaining, 

Canst  thou  leave  me  thus  alone? 
Stay  with  me,  my  darling,  stay! 

And,  like  a  dream,  thy  life  shall  pass  away, 

Like  a  dream  shall  pass  away. 

"Canst  thou  thus  unmoved  behold  me, 

Still  untouched  by  love,  by  love  so  deep? 
Nay,  thine  arms  more  closely  fold  me, 

And  thine  eyes  begin  to  weep! 
Stay  with  me,  my  darling,  stay! 

And,  like  a  dream,  thy  life  shall  pass  away, 

Like  a  dream  shall  pass  away. 

"No  regret  shall  e'er  attend  thee, 

Ne'er  shall  sorrow  dim  thine  eyes; 
'Gainst  the  world's  alarms  to  'fend  thee, 

Gladly,  proudly,  would  I  die! 
Stay  with  me,  my  darling,  stay! 

And,  like  a  dream,  thy  life  shall  pass  away, 

Shall  pass  away." 


424  QUINCY   ADAMS  SAWYER. 

As  Quincy  finished  reading,  Leopold  and  Rosa  came  £ud« 
denly  into  the  room. 

"We  were  not  eavesdropping,"  explained  Leopold,  "but 
just  as  we  were  going  to  enter  the  room  we  heard  your 
voice  and  knew  that  you  were  either  reading  or  speaking  a 
piece,  so  we  waited  until  you  had  finished.'' 

"I  was  only  reading  the  word's  of  a  new  song  that  I 
brought  down  to  Miss  Pettengill,"  said  Quincy;  "she  liked 
the  melody  and  I  thought  she  would  appreciate  it  still  more 
if  she  knew  the  words.5' 

"Exactly,"  said  Leopold;  "that's  the  reason  I  don't  like 
opera,  I  mean  the  singing  part.  All  that  I  can  ever  make 
out  sounds  like  oh!  ah!  ow!  and  when  I  try  to  read  the 
book  in  English  and  listen  to  the  singers  at  the  same  time  I 
am  lost  in  a  hopeless  maze." 

The  young  gentlemen  were  soon  on  their  way-  to  their 
hotel,  and  the  next  afternoon  found  them  again  in  Boston 

The  month  of  June  was  a  busy,  but  very  enjoyable  one, 
for  both  Alice  and  Rosa.  They  were  up  early  in  the  morn 
ing  and  were  at  work  before  breakfast.  They  ate  heartily 
and  slept  soundly.  Every  pleasant  afternoon,  when  tea  was 
over,  they  went  riding.  Tommy  Gibson  held  the  reins, 
and  although  Dolly  was  not  yet  in  her  teens,  she  knew 
every  nook  and  corner,  and  object  of  interest  on  the  island^ 
and  she  took  a  child's  delight  in  pointing  them  out,  and 
telling  the  stories  that  she  had  heard  about  them.  The 
books  that  Quincy  brought  on  his  last  visit  were  utilized, 
and  Miss  Very  made  up  another  list  to  be  sent  to  him  be 
fore  his  next  visit. 

The  proofs  of  three  more  stories  Mr.  Ernst  sent  down 
by  mail,  and  after  correction,  they  were  returned  to  him 
in  a  similar  manner.  Little  Dolly  Gibson  was  impressed 
into  service  as  a  reader,  for  Rosa  could  not  read  and  cor 
rect  at  the  same  time,  and  there  was  no  obliging  Mr.  Sawyer 
near  at  Hand.  As  Huldy  had  said,  Alice  did  miss  him.  It 
must  be  said,  in  all  truthfulness,  not  so  much  for  himselfr 


THE  BIBD  OF  LOVE.  428 

but  for  the  services  he  had  rendered.  As  yet,  Alice's  heart 
was  untouched. 

When  Dolly  Gibson  showed  her  mother  the  money  that 
Miss  Very  had  given  her,  at  Alice's  direction,  she  was  told 
to  take  it  right  back  at  once,  but  Dolly  protested  that  she 
had  earned  it,  and  when  her  mother  asked  her  to  tell  how, 
the  child,  whose  memory  was  phenomenal,  sat  down  and 
made  her  mother's  hair  stand  almost  on  end  and  her  blood 
almost  run  cold  with  her  recitals  of  the  Eight  of  Spades, 
The  Exit  of  Mrs.  Delmonnay,  and  He  Thought  He  Was 
Dead. 

"They  are  immense,"  cried  Dolly,  "they  beat  all  the 
fairy  stories  I  ever  read!" 

In  due  time  another  letter  was  sent  to  Mr.  Sawyer,  in 
forming  him  that  more  books  were  needed,  and  that  more 
chapters  were  ready,  and  on  the  morning  of  the  last  Sun 
day  in  June  the  young  ladies  were  awaiting  the  arrival  of 
Mr.  Sawyer  and  Mr.  Ernst. 

The  morning  had  opened  with  a  heavy  shower  and  the 
sky  was  still  overcast  with  angry-looking,  threatening  rain 
clouds.  Within  the  little  parlor  all  was  bright  and  cheer 
ful. 

Familiar  voices  were  heard  greeting  Mrs.  Gibson 
and  the  children,  and  men's  footsteps  soon  sounded  upon 
the  stairs.  Leopold  entered  first,  and,  advancing  to  Rosa, 
handed  her  a  large  bouquet  of  beautiful  red  roses. 

"Sweets  to  the  sweet,  roses  to  Miss  Rosa/'  said  he,  as  he 
bowed  and  presented  them. 

"They  are  beautiful,"  she  exclaimed. 

"All  roses  are  considered  so,"  he  remarked  with  a  smile. 

While  this  little  byplay,  was  going  on,  Quincy  had  ap 
proached  Alice,  who,  as  usual,  was  sitting  by  the  window, 
and  placed  in  her  hand  a  small  bunch  of  flowers.  As  he 
did  so  he  said  in  a  low  voice,  "They  are  forget-me-nots. 
There  is  a  German  song  about  them,  of  which  I  remember 
a  little,''  and  he  hummed  a  few  measures. 


426  QUINCY  ADAMS  SAWYER. 

"Oh!  thank  you,"  cried  Alice,  as  she  held  the  flowers 
before  her  eyes  in  a  vain  effort  to  see  them.  "The  music 
is  pretty.  Can't  you  remember  any  of  the  words?'' 

"Only  a  few,"  replied  Quincy.  Then  he  repeated  in  a 
low,  but  clear  voice: 

"There  is  the  sweet  flower 
They  call  forget-me-not; 
That  flower  place  on  thy  breast, 
And  think  of  me.'' 

"Say,  Quincy,  can't  you  come  over  here  and  recite  a  lit 
tle  poem  about  roses  to  Miss  Very,  just  to  help  me  out?" 
cried  Leopold.  "All  I  can  think  of  is: 

"The  rose  is  red, 
The  violet's  blue—" 

"Stop  where  you  are,''  said  Rosa  laughingly,  "for  that 
will  do." 

Alice  dropped  the  forget-me-nots  in  her  lap.  The  illu 
sion  was  dispelled. 

The  newly-completed  chapters  were  next  read,  and  quite 
a  spirited  discussion  took  place  in  regard  to  the  political 
features  introduced  in  one  of  them.  Dinner  intervened 
and  then  the  discussion  was  resumed. 

Alice  maintained  that  to  write  about  Aaron  Burr  and 
omit  politics  would  be  the  play  of  "Hamlet,"  with  Hamlet 
left  out;  and  her  auditors  were  charmed  and  yet  some 
what  startled  at  the  impassioned  and  eloquent  manner  in 
which  she  defended  Burr's  political  principles. 

When  she  finished  Leopold  said,  "Miss  Pettengill,  if  you 
will  put  in  your  book  the  energetic  defence  that  you  have 
just  made,  I  will  withdraw  my  objections." 

"You  will  find  that  and  more  in  the  next  chapter,"  Alice 
replied. 


THE   BIED   OF   LOVE.  427 

And  the  reading  was  resumed. 

The  angry,  threatening  clouds  had  massed  themselves 
once  more;  the  thunder  roared;  the  lightning  flashed  and 
the  rain  fell  in  torrents. 

Leopold  walked  to  the  window  and  looked  out.  "Walk 
ing  is  out  of  the  question,"  said  he;  "will  you  come  for  a 
sail?" 

Music  filled  the  evening,  and  during  a  lull  in  the  storm 
the  young  men  reached  their  lodgings. 

Another  month  had  nearly  passed.  The  weather  was 
much  warmer,  but  there  was  a  great  incentive  to  hard  work 
• — the  book  was  nearly  finished.  Quincy  had  sent  down  a 
package  of  books  soon  after  his  return  home,  and  Alice  and 
Rosa  had  worked  even  harder  than  in  June. 

Another  letter  went  from  Miss  Very  to  Mr.  Sawyer.  It 
contained  but  a  few  words:  "The  book  is  done.  Miss  Pet- 
tengill  herself  wrote  the  words,  'The  end,'  on  the  last 
page,  signed  her  name,  and  dated  it  'July  30,  186 — .'  She 
awaits  your  verdict.'' 

The  first  Sunday  in  August  found  the  young  ladies 
again  expectant.  Once  more  they  sat  on  a  Sunday  morn 
ing  awaiting  the  advent  of  their  gentlemen  friends.  The 
day  was  pleasant,  but  warm.  Soon  a  voice  was  heard  at 
the  front  door.  Both  ladies  listened  intently;  but  one  per 
son,  evidently,  was  coming  upstairs.  Alice  thought  it 
must  be  Mr.  Sawyer,  while  Rosa  said  to  herself,  "I  think  it; 
must  be  Mr.  Ernst." 

A  light  knock,  the  door  was  opened  and  Quincy  entered, 

Rosa  looked  up  inquiringly. 

"Mr.  Ernst,"  said  Quincy,  "wished  me  to  present  his 
regrets  at  not  being  able  to  accompany  me.  The  fact  is  he 
will  be  very  busy  this  coming  week.  He  is  going  to  try 
to  close  up  his  work,  so  that  he  can  come  down  next  Sat 
urday.  He  intends  to  take  a  month's  vacation.  I  shall 
come  with  him,  and  we  will  endeavor  to  have  a  fitting  cele* 
bration  of  the  completion  of  your  book,  Miss  Pettengill. 


428  QUINCY  ADAMS  SAWYER. 

You  young1  ladies  look  very  cool  and  comfortable  this  hot 
day." 

They  were  both  dressed  in  white,  Alice  with  a  sash  of 
blue,  while  Rosa  wore  one  of  pink. 

"Then  we  shall  have  no  reading  till  next  Sunday,''  re 
marked  Rosa. 

"Yes."  said  Quincy,  seating  himself  in  one  of  the  willow 
rockers;  "we  have  decided  upon  the  following  programme, 
if  it  meets  with  Miss  Pettengill's  approval.  I  am  to  listen 
to  the  remainder  of  the  book  to-day.  I  will  hand  the  com 
plete  manuscript  over  to  him  to-morrow  afternoon.  He 
will  then  finish  the  chapters  that  he  has  not  read  and  turn 
the  work  over  to  his  firm,  with  his  approval,  before  he 
comes  down  for  his  rest.  If  the  work  is  accepted,  Mr. 
Morton,  one  of  the  firm,  will  write  him  to  that  effect." 

"The  plan  is  certainly  satisfactory  to  me,"  said  Alice, 
"and  Miss  Very  and  I  will  be  delighted  to  contribute  our 
aid  to  the  proposed  celebration." 

Rosa  then  resumed  her  reading.  But  dinner  time  came 
before  it  was  completed.  At  that  meal  they  were  ail  intro 
duced  to  Captain  Henry  Marble. 

"My  only  brother,"  Mrs.  Gibson  said,  by  way  of  introduc 
tion.  "He's  just  home  from  a  cruise.  His  ship  is  at  New 
Bedford.  He  is  going  to  take  the  children  out  late  this 
afternoon  for  a  sail  in  the  harbor.  He  always  does  when 
he  comes  here.  Wouldn't  you  ladies  and  Mr.  Sawyer  like 
to  go  with  him?" 

Captain  Marble  repeated  the  invitation,  adding  that  he 
was  an  old  sailor,  that  he  had  a  large  sailboat,  and  that  they 
were  "only  going  to  Wauwinet,  not  out  to  sea,  you  know, 
but  only  up  the  inner  harbor,  which  is  just  like  a  pond,  you 
know.'* 

Rosa  thought  it  would  be  delightful,  but  such  a  trip  had 
no  attractions  for  Alice,  and  it  was  finally  decided  that  Rosa 
should  go,  while  Alice  and  Mr.  Sawyer  would  remain  at 
home. 


THE  BIKD  OF  LOVE.  429 

The  reading  of  the  remaining  chapters  of  Blennerhassett 
was  completed  by  three  o'clock,  and  at  quarter  of  four, 
Miss  Very,  attired  in  a  natty  yachting  costume,  which 
formed  p^rt  of  her  summer  outfit,  was  ready  to  accompany 
Captain  Marble  and  the  children  on  their  trip. 

When  they  were  alone  Quincy  turned  to  Alice  and  said, 
"I  bought  another  song  yesterday  morning,  which  I 
thought  you  might  like  to  hear." 

"Is  it  another  German  song?"  asked  Alice. 

"No/'  replied  Quincy,  as  he  took  a  roll  from  the  piano 
and  opened  it.  "It  is  a  duet;  the  music  is  by  Bosco,  but 
you  can  tell  nothing  by  that.  The  composer's  real  name 
may  be  Jones  or  Smith." 

He  seated  himself  at  the  piano  and  played  it  through,  as 
he  had  done  with  that  other  song  two  long  months  before. 

"I  think  it  more  beautiful  than  the  other,"  said  Alice. 
•'Are  the  words  as  sweet  as  those  in  that  other  song?" 

"Then  you  have  not  forgotten  the  other  one,"  said 
Quincy,  earnestly. 

"How  could  I  forget  it?"  answered  Alice.  "Rosa  has 
sung  it  to  me  several  times,  but  it  did  not  sound  to  me  as 
it  did  when  you  sang  it." 

"I  will  sing  this  one  to  you,"  said  he;  and  Alice  came  and 
stood  by  his  side  at  the  piano. 

Quincy  felt  that  the  time  to  which  he  had  looked  for 
ward  so  long  had  come  at  last.  He  could  restrain  the 
promptings  of  his  heart  no  longer.  He  loved  this  woman, 
and  she  must  know  it;  even  if  she  rejected  that  love,  he 
must  tell  her. 

"It  is  called  "The  Bird  of  Love/"  he  said  Then  he 
played  the  prelude  to  the  song.  He  sang  as  he  had  never 
sung  before ;  all  the  power  and  pathos  and  love  that  in  him 
lay  were  breathed  forth  in  the  words  and  music  of  that  song. 

With  his  voice  lingering  upon  the  last  word,  he  turned 
and  looked  up  at  Alice.  Upon  her  face  there  was  a  startled, 
almost  frightened  look. 


430  QUINCY    ADAMS    SAWYER. 

"Shall    I    read    the    words    to   you,    Miss   Pettengill?" 
There  was  almost  a  command  in  the  way  he  said  it.     His 
love  had  o'ermastered  his  politeness. 
Alice  said  nothing,  but  bowed  her  head. 
Then  Quincy  recitedi  the  words  of  the  song.     He  had  no 
need  to  read  them,  for  he  knew  them  by  heart.     It  seemed 
to  him  that  he  had  written  the  words  himself.     He  did  not 
even  remember  the  author's  name,  and  Alice  stood  with 
bowed  head  and  closed  eyes  and  drank  in  these  words  as 
they  fell  from  his  lips: 

In  this  heart  of  mine  the  bird  of  love 
Has  built  a  nest, 
Has  built  a  nest. 
And  so  she  has  in  mine! 
Response: 

And  so  she  has  in  mine! 

And  she  toils  both  day  and  night,  no  thought 
Of  food  or  rest 
Of  food  or  rest, 
And  sings  this  song  divine. 
Response : 

And  sings  this  song  divine. 
Duet: 

All  the  day  long, 
Such  a  sweet  song, 
Teaching  love  true, 
I  love!     Do  you? 

When  Quincy  came  to  the  last  line,  instead  of  reading  it 
he  turned  to  the  piano  and  sang  it  with  even  more  passion 
in  his  voice  than  at  first. 

"Will  you  try  it  over  with  me?"  he  said.  And  without 
waiting  for  her  reply  he  dashed  off  the  prelude. 

Their  voices  rang  out  together  until  they  reached  the 
line,  "And  so  she  has  in  mine.''  As  Alice  sang  these  words 
she  opened  her  eyes  and  looked  upward.  A  smile  of  su- 


THE  BIRD  OF  LOVE.  431 

preme  joy  spread  over  and  irradiated  her  face.  Her  voice 
faltered;  she  stopped,  then  she  caught  at  the  piano  with  her 
right  hand.  She  tottered  and  would'  have  fallen  if  Quincy 
had  not  sprung  up  and  taken  her  in  his  arms. 

"Is  it  true,  Alice?"  cried  he;  "is  it  so?  Can  you  truly 
.say,  'And  so  she  has  in  mine?' " 

And  Alice  looked  up  at  him  with  that  glorious  smile  still 
upon  her  face  and  softly  whispered,  "  'And  so  she  has  in 
mine,'  Quincy." 

Quincy  led  her  to  the  lounge  by  the  window,  through 
which  the  cool  evening  breeze  was  blowing,  and  they  sat 
down  side  by  side.  It  has  been  truly  said  that  the  conver 
sations  of  lovers  are  more  appreciated  by  themselves  than 
by  anybody  else,  and  it  is  equally  true  that  at  the  most  ten 
der  moment,  in  such  conversations,  intensely  disagreeable 
interruptions  are  likely  to  occur. 

Sometimes  it  is  the  well-meaning  but  unthinking  father; 
again  it  is  the  solicitous  but  inquisitive  mother;  but  more 
often  it  is  the  unregenerate  and  disrespectful  young  brother 
or  sister.  In  this  case  it  was  Miss  Rosa  Very,  who  burst 
into  the  room,  bright  and  rosy,  after  her  trip  upon  the 
water.  As  she  entered  she  cried  out,  "Oh!  you  don't  know 
what  you  missed.  I  had  a  most  d'elightful — "  She  stopped 
short,  the  truth  flashed  upon  her  that  there  were  other  de 
lightful  ways  of  passing  the  time  than  in  a  sailboat.  She 
was  in  a  dilemma. 

Quincy  solved  the  problem.  He  simply  said,  "Good-by, 
•Alice,  for  one  short  week.'' 

He  turned,  expecting  to  see  Miss  Very,  but  she  had  van 
ished.  He  clasped  Alice  in  his  arms,  and  kissed  her,  for 
the  first  time,  then  he  led  her  to  her  easy-chair  and  left 
her  there. 

As  he  quitted  the  room  and  closed  the  door  he  met  Miss 
Rosa  Very  in  the  entry. 

"I  did  not  know,"  said  she,  "but  I  am  so  glad  to  know  it. 
She  is  the  sweetest,  purest,  loveliest  woman  I  have  eve* 


432  QUINCT  ADAMS  SAWYER. 

known,  and  your  love  is  what  she  needed  to  complete  her 
happiness.  She  will  be  a  saint  now.  I  will  take  good  care 
of  her,  Mr.  Sawyer,  until  you  come  again,  for  I  love  her, 
too." 

Quincy  pressed  her  hand  warmly,  and  the  next  moment 
was  in  the  little  street.  He  was  a  rich  man,  as  the  world 
judges  riches,  but  to  him  his  greatest  treasure  was  Alice's 
first  kiss,  still  warm  upon  his  lips. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

THEN  THEY  WERE  MARRIED. 

PHEN  he  bade  Alice  good-by  for  a  week,  Quincy  was 
keeping  a  promise  he  had  made  to  his  father.  The 
second  evening  before  he  had  spent  with  his  family  at. 
Nahant,  and  while  he  was  smoking  an  after-dinner  cigar 
upon  the  veranda,  the  Hon.  Nathaniel  had  joined  him. 

"Quincy,"  said  the  latter,  "I  must  ask  you  when  you 
intend  to  resume  your  professional  duties.  You  are  now 
restored  to  health,  and  it  is  my  desire  that  you  do  so  at 
once." 

"While  I  would  not  wilfully  show  disrespect  to  your 
wishes,  father,"  said  Quincy,  calmly,  "I  must  say  frankly 
that  I  do  not  care  to  go  back  to  the  office.  The  study  of 
law  is  repugnant  to  me,  and  its  practice  would  be  a  daily 
martyrdom." 

"What!"  cried  the  Hon.  Nathaniel,  starting  in  his  chain 
"Perhaps,  sir,  you  have  fixed  upon  a  calling  that  is  more 
elevated  and  ennobling  than  the  law." 

"One  more  congenial,  at  any  rate/'  remarked  Quincy. 

"Then  you  have  chosen  a  profession/'  said  his  father 
with  some  eagerness.  "May  I  inquire  what  it  is?'' 

"It  can  hardly  be  called  a  profession,"  he  answered.. 
"I've  bought  a  third  interest  in  a  country  grocery  store.'' 

If  the  Hon.  Nathaniel  started  before,  this  last  piece  of  in 
formation  fairly  brought  him  to  his  feet.  "And  may  I  in 
quire,  sir,"  he  thundered,  "if  this  special  partnership  in  a 
country  grocery  store  is  the  summit  of  your  ambitions? 
I  suppose  I  shall  hear  next  that  you  are  engaged  to  some 
farmer's  daughter,  and  propose  to  marry  her,  regardless 


434  QUINCY    ADAMS    SAWYER. 

of  the  wishes  of  your  family,  and  despite  the  terrible  exam 
ple  supplied  by  your  Uncle  James.'' 

"It  hasn't  come  to  that  yet,"  remarked  Quincy,  calmly, 
"but  it  may  if  I  find  a  farmer's  daughter  who  comes  up  to 
my  ideal  of  a  wife  and  to  whom  I  can  give  an  honest  love.'' 

The  Hon.  Nathaniel  sank  back  in  his  chair.  Quincy 
continued,  "I  will  not  try  to  answer  your  sarcastic  refer 
ence  to  the  grocery  store.  It  is  a  good  investment  and  an 
honorable  business,  fully  as  honorable  as  cheating  the 
prison  or  the  gallows  of  what  is  due  them;  but  the  summit 
of  my  ambition  is  by  no  means  reached.  I  am  young  yet 
and  have  plenty  of  time  to  study  the  ground  before  ex 
panding  my  career,  but  I  will  tell  you,  privately  and  confi 
dentially,  that  my  friends  have  asked  me  to  run  for  the 
General  Court,  and  I  have  about  decided  to  stand  as  a  can 
didate  for  nomination  as  representative  from  our  district." 

"I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  that,  Quincy,''  said  his  father, 
somewhat  mollified,  and  he  edged  his  arm-chair  a  little 
closer  to  his  son,  despite  the  heavy  clouds  of  smoke  emitted 
from  Quincy's  cigar.  "If  you  get  the  regular  nomination 
in  our  district  it's  tantamount  to  an  election.  I  need 
scarcely  say  that  whatever  influence  I  may  possess  will  be 
exerted  in  your  favor." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Quincy;  "I  mean  to  stump  the  dis 
trict,  anyway.  If  I  lose  the  regular  nomination  I  shall  take 
an  independent  one.  I  had  rather  fight  my  way  in  than  be 
pushed  in." 

His  father  smiled  and  patted  him  on  the  arm.  Then  they 
rose  from  their  chairs,  Quincy  observing  that  as  he  was 
going  away  early  in  the  morning  he  would  immediately 
retire. 

"That  reminds  me,''  said  his  father.  "I  have  a  favor  to 
ask  of  you,  Quincy.  It  is  this,  Lord  Algernon  Hastings, 
heir  to  the  earldom  of  Sussex,  and  his  sister,  Lady  Elfrida, 
are  now  in  Boston,  and  bring  letters  from  the  Lord  High 
Chancellor,  with  whom  I  became  acquainted  when  I  was' 


THEN  THEY  WERE  MARRIED.  435 

in  England,  two  years  ago.  I  have  invited  them  to  visit  us 
here  next  week,  and  my  wish  is  that  you  will  spend  as 
much  of  your  time  at  home  as  possible  and  assist  me  in 
entertaining  them — I  mean  the  son,  of  course,  particu 
larly." 

Quincy's  thoughts  flew  quickly  to  Nantucket  and  back. 
Had  he  foreseen  what  was  to  happen  on  his  coming  visit, 
he  would  have  hesitated  still  longer,  but  thinking  that, 
after  all.  next  Sunday's  journey  might  not  end  any  more 
conclusively  than  the  previous  one,  he  presently  turned  to 
his  father  and  answered: 

"I  will  do  so.  I  must  go  to-morrow,  but  I  will  return 
early  on  Monday,  and  will  stay  at  home  the  entire  week." 

"I  thank  you  very  much,  Quincy,"  said  the  Hon.  Nathan 
iel,  and  he  laid  his  hand  on  his  son's  shoulder  as  affection 
ately  as  he  was  capable  of  doing,  when  they  entered  the 
house. 

Lady  Elfrida  Hastings  and  her  brother,  Lord  Algernon, 
arrived  in  due  season,  and  Quincy  was  there  to  assist  at 
their  reception.  The  former  was  tall,  and  dark,  and  stately; 
her  features  were  cast  in  a  classic  mould,  but  the  look  in 
her  eye  was  cold  and  distant,  and  the  face,  though  having 
all  the  requirements  of  beauty,  yet  lacked  it.  To  Mrs. 
Sawyer  and  her  daughter,  Florence,  the  Lady  Elfrida  was 
a  revelation,  and  they  yearned  to  acquire  that  statuesque 
repose  that  comes  so  natural  to  the  daughter  of  an  earl. 
But  Maude  told  her  brother  that  evening  that  the  Lady 
Elfrida  was  a  "prunes  and  prisms,''  and  was  sure  to  die  an 
old  maid. 

Lord  Algernon  was  tall  and  finely  built;  he  had  a  pro 
fusion  of  light  brown  curly  hair,  and  a  pair  of  large  blue 
eyes  that  so  reminded  Quincy  of  Alice  that  he  took  to  the 
young  lord  at  once.  They  rode,  played  billiards,  bowled, 
and  smoked  together. 

One  afternoon  while  they  were  enjoying  a  sail  in  the  bayt 
Quincy  inquired  of  his  guest  how  he  liked  America, 


436  QUINCY  ADAMS  SAWYER. 

"  'Pon  honor,  my  dear  fellow,  I  don't  know,"  replied 
Lord  Algernon.  "I  came  here  for  a  certain  purpose,  and 
have  failed  miserably.  I  am  going  to  sail  for  home  in  a 
week,  if  my  sister  will  go." 

"Then  you  didn't  come  to  enjoy  the  pleasures  of  travel?" 
remarked  Quincy,  interrogatively. 

"No!  By  Jove,  I  didn't.  My  sister  did,  and  she  supposes 
I  did.  I'm  going  to  tell  you  the  truth,  Mr.  Sawyer.  I 
know  you  will  respect  my  confidence."  Quincy  nodded. 

"The  fact  is,"  Lord  Algernon  continued,  "I  came  over 
here  to  find  a  girl  that  I'm  in  love  with,  but  who  ran  away 
from  me  as  soon  as  I  told  her  of  it.'' 

"But  why?"  asked  Quincy,  not  knowing  what  else  to  say. 

"That's  the  deuce  of  it/'  replied  Lord  Algernon;  "I 
sha'n't  know  till  I  find  her  and  ask  her.  I  met  her  at  Nice, 
in  France;  she  was  with  her  mother,  a  Mdme.  Archim- 
bault;  the  daughter's  name  was  Celeste — Celeste  Archim- 
bault.  They  said  they  were  not  French,  they  were  French 
Canadians;  came  from  America,  you  know.  I  was  travel 
ing  as  plain  Algernon  Hastings,  and  I  don't  think  she  ever 
suspected  I  was  the  son  of  an  earl.  I  proposed  one  even 
ing.  She  said  she  must  speak  to  her  mother,  and  if  I  would 
come  the  next  evening  about  seven  o'clock,  she  would  give 
me  her  answer,  and  I  thought  by  the  look  in  her  eye  that 
she  herself  was  willing  to  say  'Yes'  then.  But  when  I  called 
the  next  evening  they  had  both  gone,  no  one  knew  where.'' 

"You  are  sure  she  was  not  an  adventuress?"  inquired 
Quincy.  "Excuse  the  question,  my  lord,  but  you  really 
knew  nothing  about  her?'' 

"I  knew  that  I  loved  her,"  said  Lord  Algernon,  bluntly, 
"and  I  would  give  half  of  my  fortune  to  find  her.  I  know 
she  was  a  true,  pure,  beautiful  girl,  and  her  mother  was  as 
honest  an  old  lady  as  you  could  find  in  the  world." 

"I  wish  I  could  help  you,"  remarked  Quincy. 

"Thank  you,"  said  Lord  Algernon ;  "perhaps  you  may  be 
ible  to  some  day.  Don't  forget  her  name,  Celeste  Archim- 


THEN   THEY   WEKE   MAKKIED.  437 

bault;  she  is  slight  in  figure,  graceful  in  her  carriage,  lady 
like  in  her  manners.  She  has  dark  hair,  large,  dreamy 
black  eyes,  with  a  hidden  sorrow  in  them;  in  fact,  a  very 
handsome  brunette.  Here  is  my  card,  Mr.  Sawyer.  I  will 
write  my  London  address  on  it,  and  if  you  ever  hear  of  her, 
cable  me  at  once  and  I'll  take  the  next  steamer  for 
America." 

Quincy  said  that  he  would,  and  put  the  card  in  his  card- 
case. 

He  excused  himself  to  Lord  Algernon  and  his  sister  that 
evening;  a  prior  engagement  made  it  necessary  for  him  to 
leave  for  Boston  early  next  morning,  and  the  farewells 
were  then  spoken.  Lord  Algernon's  last  words  to  Quincy 
were  whispered  in  his  ear,  "Don't  forget  her  name — Celeste 
Archimbault!'' 

The  next  Sunday  morning  Quincy  and  Leopold,  as  they 
approached  Mrs.  Gibson's  house  on  the  Cliff,  found  Rosa 
Very  standing  at  the  little  gate.  She  had  on  the  white 
dress  that  she  had  worn  the  Sunday  before,  but  which  Leo 
pold  had  not  seen.  Upon  her  head  was  a  wide-brimmed 
straw  hat,  decked  with  ribbons  and  flowers,  which  intensi 
fied  the  darkness  of  her  hair  and  eyes." 

"Don't  forget  her  name — Celeste  Archimbault,"  came 
into  Quincy's  mind,  but  he  said,  "Nonsense/'  to  himself, 
and  dismissed  the  thought. 

"All  ready  for  a  walk  on  the  Cliff  ?"  asked  Leopold,  as  he 
raised  his  hat  and  extended  his  hand  to  Rosa.  She  shook 
hands  with  him  and  then  with  Quincy.  She  opened  the 
little  gate,  placed  her  hand  on  Leopold's  arm  and  they 
walked  on  up  the  Cliff  Road. 

As  Quincy  entered  the  little  parlor,  Alice  sprang  toward 
him  with  a  cry  of  joy.  He  caught  her  in  his  arms,  and  this 
time  one  kiss  did  not  suffice,  for  a  dozen  were  pressed  on 
hair  and  brow  and  cheek  and  lips. 

"It  is  so  long  since  you  went  away,''  said  Alice, 

"Only  one  short  week/'  replied  Quincy. 


J3S  QUINCY   ADAMS  SAWYER, 

"Short!  Those  six  days  have  seemed  longer  than  all  tha 
time  we  were  together  at  Eastborough.  I  cannot  let  you 
go  away  from  me  again,"  she  cried. 

"Stay  with  Me,  My  Darling,  St^y,"  sang  Quincy,  in  a 
low  voice,  and  Alice  tried  to  hide  her  blushing  face  upon 
|his  shoulder. 

Then  they  sat  down  and  talked  the  matter  over.  "I 
must  leave  you,"  said  Quincy,  "and  only  see  you  occasion 
ally,  and  then  usually  in  the  presence  of  others,  unless — " 

"Unless  what?''  cried  Alice,  and  a  sort  of  frightened  look 
came  into  her  face. 

"Unless  you  marry  me  at  once/'  said  Quincy.  "I  don't 
mean  this  minute;  :ay  Wednesday  o*  this  coining  week.  I 
have  a  license  with  me  I  got  in  Boston  yesterday  morning. 
We'll  be  married  quietly  in  this  little  room,  in  which  you 
first  told  me  that  you  loved  me.  We  could  be  married  in  a 
big  church  in  Boston,  with  bridesmaids,  and  groomsmen, 
and  music  on  a  big  organ.  We  cculd  make  as  big  a  day 
of  it  as  they  did  down  to  Eastborough/' 

"Oh,  no!''  said  Alice;  "I  could  n  t  go  through  that.  I 
cannot  see  well  enough,  and  I  might  make  some  terrible 
blunder.  I  might  trip  an !  fall,  and  then  I  should  be  so 
nervous  and  ashamed." 

"I  will  not  ask  you  to  go  through  such  an  ordeal,  my 
dearest.  I  know  that  we  could  have  all  these  grand  things, 
and  for  that  reason,  if  for  no  better  one,  I'm  perfectly  will 
ing  to  go  without  them.  No,  Alice,  we  will  be  married  here 
in  this  room.  We  will  deck  it  with  flowers,''  continued 
Quincy.  "Leopold  will  go  to  Boston  to-morrow  and  get 
them.  Rosamond's  Bower  was  not  sweeter  nor  more  lovely 
than  we  will  make  this  little  room.  I  will  get  an  old  clergy* 
man;  I  don't  like  young  ones;  Leopold  shall  be  my  best 
man  and  Rosa  shall  be  your  bridesmaid.  Mrs.  Gibson  and 
her  brother,  who  I  see  is  still  here,  shall  be  our  witnesses; 
and  we  will  have  Tommy  and  Dolly  for  ushers." 

Both  laughed  aloud  in  their  chiMrsh  glee  at  the 


THEN   THEY  WERE  MARRIED.  439 

that  Quincy  had  painted.  "I  could  ask  for  nothing  better," 
said  Alice;  "the  ceremony  will  be  modest,  artistic,  and 
idyllic." 

"And  economical,  too,"  Quincy  added  with  a  laugh. 

And  so  it  came  to  pass!  They  were  married,  and  the 
transformation  in  the  little  room,  that  Quincy  and  Alice 
had  seen  in  their  mind's  eye,  was  realized  to  the  letter. 
Flowers,  best  man,  bridesmaid,  witnesses,  ushers,  and  the 
aged  clergyman,  with  whitened  locks,  who  called  them  his 
children,  and  blessed  them  and  wished  them  long  life  and 
happiness,  hoped  that  they  would  meet  and  know  each 
other  some  day  in  the  infinite — all  were  there. 

This  was  on  Wednesday.  On  Thursday  came  a  letter 
from  Aunt  Ella.  It  contained  the  most  kindly  congratula 
tions,  and  a  neat  little  wedding  present  of  a  check  for  fifty 
thousand  dollars.  She  wrote  further  that  she  was  lonesome 
and  wanted  somebody  to  read  to  her,  and  talk  to  her,  and 
sing  to  her.  If  the  book  was  done,  would  not  Miss  Very 
come  to  spend  the  remainder  of  the  season  with  her,  and  if 
Mr.  Ernst  was  there  could  he  not  spare  time  to  escort  Miss 
Very. 

That  same  evening  Leopold  received  a  letter  from  Mr. 
Morton.  It  simply  read,  "Blennerhassett  accepted;  will 
be  put  in  type  at  once  and  issued  by  the  first  of  November, 
perhaps  sooner." 

The  next  morning  Leopold  and  Rosa  started  for  Old 
Orchard,  and  the  lovers  were  left  alone  to  pass  their  honey 
moon,  with  the  blue  sea  about  them,  the  blue  sky  above 
them,  and  a  love  within  their  hearts  which  grew  stronger 
day  by  day, 


CHAPTER  XXXVII, 
LINDA'S  BIRTHRIGHT 

FOR  Quincy  and  Alice,  day  after  day,  and  week  after 
week,  found  them  in  a  state  of  complete  happiness. 
The  little  island  floating  in  the  azure  sea  was  their  world, 
and  for  the  time,  no  thought  of  any  other  intruded  upon 
their  delightful  Eden.  It  seemed  to  Quincy  all  a  blissful 
dream  of  love,  and  everything  he  looked  upon  was  wreathed 
in  flowers  and  golden  sunshine. 

But  lotus  land  is  not  so  far  distant  from  the  abodes  of 
.mortal  man  but  that  his  emissaries  may  reach  it.  The  first 
jarring  note  in  the  sweet  harmony  of  their  married  life 
came  in  the  form  of  a  letter  from  Dr.  Culver,  who  wrote  to 
remind  Quincy  that  it  would  soon  be  time  to  start  in 
ploughing  the  political  field.  Quincy's  reply  was  brief  and 
to  the  point. 

s'Mv  DEAR  CULVER: — I  will  see  you  m  Boston  on  the  tenth 
of  September.  Q.  A,  S." 

When  Aunt  Ella  learned  that  her  nephew  was  going  to 
town,  she  made  hurried  preparations  for  her  departure  from 
Old  Orchard,  and  wrote  to  him  insisting  that  he  and  Alice 
should  come  and  stay  with  her.  This  invitation  they  gladly 
accepted,  Quincy  arranging  in  his  mind  to  explain  matters 
to  his  family  by  saying  that,  as  he  had  now  entered  politics 
and  would  necessarily  have  a  great  many  callers  to  enter 
tain,  he  thought  it  best  to  make  his  headquarters  with  Aunt 
Ella  until  the  campaign  was  over. 

Accordingly,  the  ninth  of  September  saw  them  located 
at  Mt  Vernon  Street  On  the  very  day  of  their  arrivalj 


LINDA'S  BIRTHKIGHT-  4AV 

proof  of  the  remaining  stories  and  a  large  instalment  of 
Blennerhassett  reached  them,  with  a  note  from  Ernst  ° 

"Please  rush.    Press  is  waiting." 

Miss  Very's  assistance  was  now  absolutely  necessary, 
but  when  Quincy  asked  Leopold  for  her  address>  he  wa* 
surprised  at  the  reply  he  received. 

"I  haven't  seen  her,"  said  Leopold,  "since  we  came  back 
from  Old  Orchard  together.  In  fact,  since  that  time,  our 
relations,  for  some  reason  or  other,  have  undergone  a  great 
change.  However,  I  think  I  can  help  you  out.  I  don't 
believe  in  keeping  a  good  friend  like  you,  Quincy,  in  sus 
pense,  so  I  will  tell  you  the  truth.  I  am  married.  My 
wife  is  fully  as  competent  to  assist  Mrs.  Sawyer  as  Miss 
Very  would  have  been.  She  is  in  the  library  now  at  wo>rku 
I  will  go  and  ask  her." 

He  entered  the  room,  closing  the  door  behind  him. 
Quincy  threw  himself  rather  discontentedly  into  a  chair, 
He  fancied  he  heard  laughing  in  the  next  room,  but  he 
knew  Alice  would  be  disappointed,  and  he  himself  felt  in 
no  mood  for  laughter. 

Leopold  opened  the  library  door.  "Quincy,  I've  induced 
her  to  undertake  the  task,"  he  said.  "Do  spare  a  moment 
from  your  work,  Mrs.  Ernst;  I  wish  to  introduce  to  you 
Mr.  Quincy  Adams  Sawyer,  the  husband  of  the  author  of 
that  coming  literary  sensation,  Blennerhassett.  Mr.  Saw 
yer,"  he  continued,  "allow  me  to  present  you  to  my  wife, 
Mrs.  Rosa  Ernst.''  And  as  he  said  this,  Leopold  and  Rosa 
stood  side  by  side  in  the  doorway. 

"When  did  you  do  it?"  finally  ejaculated  Quincy,  rushing 
forward  and  grasping  each  by  the  hand.  "Leopold,  I  owe 
you  one."  And  then  they  all  laughed  together. 

By  some  means,  Dr.  Culver  said  by  the  liberal  use 
of  money,  Barker  Dalton  secured  the  regular  nomina 
tion  from  Quincy's  party.  The  latter  kept  his  word 
and  entered  the  field  as  an  independent  candidate.  A 
hot  contest  followed.  The  papers  were  full  of  the 


M&  QUINCT  ADAMS   SAWTEE. 

speeches  of  the  opposing  candidates,  and  incidents 
nected  with  their  lives.  But  in  none  relating  to  Quincy 
was  a  word  said  about  his  marriage,  and  the  fact 
was  evidently  unknown,  except  to  a  limited  few.  When 
the  polls  closed  on  election  day  and  the  vote  was 
declared,  it  was  found  that  Sawyer  had  a  plurality  of  two 
hundred  and  twenty-eight  and  a  clear  majority  of  twenty- 
two  over  both  Dalton  and  Burke,  the  opposing  candidates, 
'Then  the  papers  were  full  of  compliments  for  Mr.  Sawyer, 
who  had  so  successfully  fought  corruption  and  bribery  in 
fiis  own  party,  and  won  such  a  glorious  victory. 

But  Quincy  never  knew  that  the  Hon.  Nathaniel  Adams 
Sawyer  had  used  all  his  influence  to  secure  his  son's  dec 
tion,  and  for  every  dollar  expended  by  Dalton,  the  Hon. 
Nathaniel  had  covered  it  with  a  two  or  five  if  necessary. 

The  publication  of  Blennerhassett  had  been  heralded  by 
advance  notices  that  appeared  in  the  press  during  the  month 
of  October. 

These  notices  had  been  adroitly  written.  Political  preju 
dices,  one  notice  said,  would  no  doubt  be  aroused  by  state 
ments  made  in  the  book,  and  one  newspaper  went  so  far 
as  to  publish  a  double-leaded  editorial  protesting  against 
the  revival  of  party  animosities  buried  more  than  two  gen 
erations  ago.  The  leaven  worked,  and  when  the  book  was 
placed  in  the  stores  on  the  eleventh  of  November,  the  de* 
mand  for  it  was  unparalleled.  Orders  came  for  it  from  all 
parts  of  the  country,  particularly  from  the  State  of  New 
York,  and  the  resources  of  the  great  publishing  house  of 
Hinckley,  Morton,  &  Co,  were  taxed  to  the  utmost  to  muet 
the  demand. 

While  Quincy  was  fighting  Dalton  in  the  political  field, 
another  campaign  was  being  planned  in  the  clever  diplo 
matic  brain  of  Aunt  Ella.  It  related  to  the  introduction  of 
Alice,  the  "farmer's  daughter,"  to  the  proud  patrician  fam 
ily  of  Sawyer,  as  Quincy's  wife — no  easy  matter  to  accom 
plish  satisfactorily,  as  all  agreed,, 


LINDA'S  BIRTIIKIGHT,  448 

The  initial  step  was  taken  a  couple  of  weeks  after 
Thanksgiving,  when  a  daintily-engraved  card  was  issued 
from  Mt.  Vernon  Street,  which  read: 

''Your  company  is  respectfully  requested  on  the  evening 
of  the  tenth  of  December  at  a  reception  to  be  given  to 
Bruce  Douglas,  the  author  of  Blennerhassett." 

One  evening,  Quincy  ran  up  the  steps  of  the  Mt.  Vernon 
Street  house.  He  opened  the  door  and  started  to  run  up 
the  stairs  to  his  wife's  room,  as  was  his  custom,  when  he 
came  into  collision  with  a  young  lady,  who,  upon  closer  in 
spection,  he  found  to  be  his  sister  Maude. 

"Come  in  here,'*  she  said.  She  grasped  him  by  the  arm, 
and,  dragging  him  into  the  parlor,  she  closed  the  door  be 
hind  him. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Man!"  she  cried,  "Pve  found  you  out,  but 
horses  sha'n't  drag  it  out  of  me.  No,  Quincy,  you're 
always  right,  and  I  won't  peach.  But  'twas  mean  not  to  tell 
me." 

Quincy  looked  at  her  in  voiceless  astonishment.  "What 
do  you  mean,  Maude,  and  where  did  you  gather  up  all  that 
slang?" 

"I  might  ask  you,"  said  Maude,  "where  you  found  your 
wife.  _I've  been  talking  to  her  upstairs.  She  must  have 
thought  that  papa  and  mamma  knew  all  about  it,  for  she 
told  me  who  she  was,  just  as  easy.  Who  is  she,  Quincy?'' 

He  drew  his  sister  down  beside  him  on  a  sofa.  "She  was 
Miss  Mary  Alice  Pettengill.  She  is  now  known  to  a  lim 
ited  few,  of  which  you,  sister  Maude,  are  one,  as  Mrs. 
Mary  Alice  Sawyer;  but  she  is  known  to  a  wide  circle  of 
readers  as  Bruce  Douglas,  the  author  of  many  popular 
stories,  as  also  of  that  celebrated  book  entitled  Blenner^ 
hassett." 

"Is  that  so?"  cried  Maude ;  "why,  papa  is  wild  over  that 
book.  He's  been  reading  it  aloud  to  us  evenings,  and  he 
said  last  night  that  that  young  man — you  hear,  Quincy?— < 


fi44  QUINCY  ADAMS  SAWYER. 

ihat  young  man,  had  brought  the  truth  to  the  surface  at 
last." 

"Now,  Maude,"  said  Quincy,  "you  go  right  home  and 
keep  your  inouth  shut  a  little  while  longer,  and  when  you 
are  sixteen" — "the  ninth  of  next  January,"  broke  in 
Maude — "I'll  give  you  a  handsome  gold  watch,  with  my 
picture  in  it." 

"I  don't  have  to  be  paid  to  keep  your  secrets,  Quincy,* 
replied  Maude  archly,  as  Quincy  kissed  her. 

"I  know  it,  deal',''  said  Quincy;  "I'll  give  you  the  watch, 
not  as  pay,  but  *o  show  my  gratitude." 

Quincy  took  an  early  opportunity  to  explain  to  his  wife 
his  remissness  in  not  informing  his  parents  of  his  mar 
riage,  and  disclosed  to  her  Aunt  Ella's  plan. 

On  the  tenth,  Mrs.  Chessman's  spacious  parlor  was 
thronged  from  nine  till  eleven  o'clock  with  bright  and 
shining  lights,  representing  the  musical,  artistic,  literary, 
and  social  culture  of  Boston.  Among  the  guests  were  the 
Hon.  Nathaniel  Adams  Sawyer,  his  wife,  and  his  daugh 
ters,  Florence  and  Maude.  The  surprise  of  the  visitors  at 
the  discovery  that  Bruce  Douglas  was  a  young  woman  was 
followed  by  one  of  great  pleasure  at  finding  her  beautiful 
and  affable. 

The  reception  and  entertainment  were  acknowledged  on 
all  sides  to  have  been  most  successful,  and  a  thoroughly 
pleased  and  satisfied  company  had  spoken  their  farewells 
to  author  and  hostess  by  quarter-past  eleven.  So,  when 
Quincy  came  up  Walnut  Street  and  glanced  across  at  his 
aunt's  house,  a  little  before  twelve,  he  found  the  windows 
dark  and  the  occupants,  presumably,  in  their  bed's. 

As  part  of  her  plan,  Quincy  had  been  advised  by  Aunt 
Ella  to  stay  away  from  the  reception,  to  spend  the  night 
at  his  father's  house,  and  to  be  sure  and  take  breakfast 
with  them,  so  as  to  hear  what  was  said  about  the  previous 
evening. 


LINDA'S  BIRTHRIGHT.  445 

As  soon  as  the  morning  meal  was  over,  Quincy  ran 

quickly  upstairs,  seized  his  hand-bag,  which  he  always  kept 
packed,  ready  for  an  emergency,  and  in  a  very  short  space 
of  time,  reached  Mt.  Vernon  Street.  He  found  his  wife 
and  aunt  in  the  den.  The  latter  was  reading  a  manuscript 
to  Alice. 

As  soon  as  the  greetings  were  over,  and  a  little  time 
given  to  discussing  the  reception,  Quincy  asked:  "Who  is 
this  Mr.  Fernborough  that  Maude  told  me  about  this 
morning?" 

"He  is  an  English  gentleman,"  explained  Alice,  "who 
has  come  to  this  country  to  see  if  he  can  find  any  trace  of 
an  only  daughter,  who  ran  away  from  home  with  an  Amer 
ican  more  than  thirty  years  ago,  and  who,  he  thinks,  came 
to  this  country  with  her  husband.  His  wife  is  dead,  he  is 
alone  in  the  world,  and  he  is  ready  to  forgive  her  and  care 
for  her,  if  she  needs  it." 

"He  hasn't  hurried  himself  about  it,  has  he?"  said 
Quincy;  "but  why  did  he  come  to  you?'' 

"That's  the  strange  part  of  it,"  Alice  replied.  "He  said  he 
thoughtlessly  picked  up  a  magazine  at  a  hotel  where  he 
was  staying,  and  his  eye  fell  upon  my  story,  How  He  Lost 
Both  Name  and  Fortune.  He  read  it,  and  sought  me  out, 
to  ask  if  it  were  fiction,  or  whether  it  was  founded  on  some 
true  incident.  He  was  quite  disappointed  when  I  told  him 
it  was  entirely  a  work  of  the  imagination.'* 

"Did  he  say  what  hotel?"  asked  Quincy. 

"No,"  replied  Alice;  "but  why  are  you  so  interested  in  a 
total  strang-er?" 

Then  Quincy  told  the  story  of  the  broken  envelope — 
the  little  piece  of  cloth — and  the  name,  Linda  Fernborough. 

"I  must  find  him  at  once,"  said  he,  "for  I  have  an  im 
pression  that  his  daughter  must  have  been  Lindy  Putnam's 
real  mother.  You  gave  me  my  reward,  Alice,  before  my 
quest  was  successful,  but  I  gave  my  word  to  find  her  for 


446 

you,  and  I  shall  not  consider  myself  fully  worthy  of  yew 
till  that  word  is  kept." 

"But  what  did  your  father  and  mother  say?"  broke  in 
Aunt  Ella. 

"My  father  took  me  to  task,''  began  Quincy,  "for  not 
being  present  at  the  reception,  but  I  told  him  I  had  to  see 
Culver  on  some  political  business.  Then  he  remarked  that 
I  missed  a  very  pleasant  evening.  He  complimented  Aunt 
Ella,  here,  for  her  skill  as  an  entertainer,  and  expressed 
his  surprise  that  Bruce  Douglas,  instead  of  being  a  young 
man,  was  a  young  and  very  beautiful  woman.  Yes,  Aunt 
Ella,  he  actually  called  my  wife  here  a  very  beautiful  young 
woman.'' 

"That  is  a  capital  beginning!"  cried  Aunt  Ella.  "Go  on, 
Quincy." 

"In  order  to  continue  the  conversation,  I  ventured  the 
remark  that  Bruce  Douglas  came  from  an  ordinary  country 
family  and  one  not  very  well  off;  for  which  aspersion,  I 
humbly  ask  your  pardon,  Mrs.  Sawyer.  Father  replied 
that  he  thought  that  I  must  have  been  misinformed;  that 
Bruce  Douglas  was  worth  fifty  thousand  dollars  in  her  own 
right,  and  he  added  that  she  would  become  a  very  wealthy 
woman  if  she  kept  up  her  literary  activity." 

"What  did  sister  Sarah  say?"  asked  Aunt  Ella. 

"Well,"  said  Quincy,  "I  resolved  to  do  something  des 
perate,  so  I  asked:  'Doesn't  she  look  countrified?'  again 
.asking  your  pardon,  Mrs.  Sawyer." 

"No,"  said  mother,  "she  has  the  repose  of  a  Lady  Gara 
•Vere  de  Vere,  and  is  as  correct  in  her  speech  as  was  the 
Lady  Elfrida  Hastings." 

"It  will  come  out  all  right,"  cried  Aunt  Ella;  and  Quincy, 
kissing  his  aunt  and  wife,  and  promising  to  write  or  tele 
graph  every  day,  caught  up  his  hand-bag  and  started  fortti 
in  search  of  the  Hon.  Stuart  Fernborough,  M.  P. 

When  Quincy  left  his  aunt's  house  he  had  not  the  slight- 
fcst  idea  which  way  would  be  the  best  to  turn  his  footsteps. 


LINDA'S  BIRTHRIGHT  44& 

He  commenced  his  search,  however,  at  the  Revere  House, 
then  he  tried  the  American  House,  but  at  neither  place  was 
Mr.  Fernborough  a  guest. 

At  the  Quincy  House  the  clerk  was  busy  with  a  num 
ber  of  new  arrivals.  He  had  just  opened  a  new  hotel  regis 
ter,  and  the  old  one  lay  upon  the  counter.  Quincy  took  it 
up,  and  turning  over  the  leaves,  glanced  up  and  down  its 
pages.  Suddenly  he  started  back;  then,  holding  the  book 
closer  to  his  eyes  he  read  it  again.  There  it  was,  under  the 
date  of  September  10,  "Mdme.  Rose  Archimbault  and 
daughter."  The  residence  given  in  the  proper  column  was 
"New  York."  Quincy  kept  the  book  open  at  the  place 
where  he  found  this  entry  until  the  clerk  was  at  leisure. 
He  remembered  Mdme.  Archimbault  and  daughter  in  a 
general  way.  He  was  sure  that  they  arrived  from  Europe 
the  day  that  they  came  to  the  hotel,  and  he  was  equally 
sure  that  they  went  to  New  York  when  they  left.  What 
made  him  positive  was  that  he  remembered  asking  the 
young  lady  when  she  wrote  New  York  in  the  register  if  she 
had  not  just  returned  from  Europe.  She  said  yes,  but  that 
her  home  residence  was  in  New  York. 

Quincy  thanked  the  clerk,  and  started  forth  again  in 
search  of  the  elusive  Mr.  Fernborough.  A  visit  to  Young's, 
Parker's,  and  the  Tremont  furnished  no  clue,  and  Quincy 
was  wondering  whether  his  search,  after  all,  was  destined  to 
be  fruitless,  when  he  thought  of  a  small  hotel  in  Central 
Court,  which  led  from  Washington  Street,  a  little  south  of 
Summer  Street. 

It  was  noted  for  its  English  roast  beef,  Yorkshire  mut 
ton  chops,  and  musty  ale,  and  might  be  just  the  sort  of 
place  that  an  English  gentleman  would  put  up  at,  provided 
he  had  been  informed  of  its  whereabouts. 

On  his  way  Quincy  dropped  into  the  Marlborough,  but 
Mr.  Fernborough  had  not  been  there,  and  Quincy  imagine3 
that  the  little  hotel  in  Central  Court  was  his  last  hope. 

His  persistence  was  rewarded,     Mr.  Fernborough 


448  QUINCY  ADAMS  SAWYEK. 

not  only  a  guest,  but  he  was  in  his  room.  Quincy  sent  up 
his  card,  and  in  a  very  short  time  was  shown  into  the  pres 
ence  of  a  courtly  gentleman,  between  sixty  and  seventy 
years  of  age.  His  face  was  smooth  shaven,  and  had  a  firm 
but  not  hard  expression.  His  eyes,  however,  showed  that 
he  was  weighed  down  by  some  sorrow,  which  the  unyield 
ing  expression  of  his  face  indicated  that  he  would  bear  in 
silence  rather  than  seek  sympathy  from  others. 

Quincy's  story  was  soon  told.  The  old  gentleman  lis 
tened  with  breathless  interest,  and  when  at  the  close  Quincy 
said,  "What  do  you  think?"  Mr.  Fernborough  cried,  "It 
must  be  she,  my  daughter's  child.  There  are  no  other 
Fernboroughs  in  England,  and  Linda  has  been  a  family 
name  for  generations.  Heaven  bless  you,  young  man,  for 
your  kindly  interest,  and  take  me  to  my  grandchild  at  once, 
She  is  the  only  tie  that  binds  me  to  earth.  All  the  others 
are  dead  and  gone.5' 

The  old  gentleman  broke  down  completely,  and  for  sev 
eral  minutes  was  unable  to  speak. 

Quincy  waited  until  his  emotion  had  somewhat  subsided. 
Then  he  said,  "I  am  at  your  service,  sir;  we  will  do  our 
best  to  find  her.  I  have  a  feeling  that  she  is  in  New  York, 
but  not  a  single  fact  to  prove  it.  We  can  take  the  one 
o'clock  train,  if  you  desire.'' 

The  old  gentleman  began  at  once  to  prepare  for  the  jour 
ney.  Quincy  told  him  he  would  meet  him  at  the  hotel 
office,  and  from  there  he  sent  a  note  to  Aunt  Ella  inform 
ing  her  of  his  intended  departure. 

Arriving  in  New  York  they  were  driven  at  once  to  the 
Fifth  Avenue  Hotel.  Quincy  prevailed  upon  Sir  Stuart 
to  retire  at  once,  telling  him  that  he  would  prepare  an  ad 
vertisement  and  have  it  in  the  next  morning's  issue  of  the 
"New  York  Herald." 

Quincy  wrote  out  two  advertisements  and  sent  them  by 
special  messenger  to  the  newspaper  office.  The  first  one 


LINDA'S  BIRTHRIGHT.  448 

read:  "Linda:  important  paper  not  destroyed,  as  suspected. 
Communicate  at  once  with  Eastborough,  'Herald'  office." 

The  second  was  worded  as  follows:  "Celeste  A 1: 

an  American  friend  has  a  message  for  you  from  me.  Send 
your  address  at  once  to  Eastborough,  'Herald'  office. 
ALGERNON  H." 

Then  began  the  days  of  weary  waiting;  the  careful  ex 
amination  of  the  "Herald"  each  morning,  to  be  sure  that  the 
advertisements  were  in,  for  both  had  been  paid  for  a  week 
in  advance.  The  request  for  mail  made  every  morning  at 
the  "Herald''  office  received  a  stereotyped  "no"  for  answer; 
then  he  vowed  that  he  would  advertise  no  more,  but  would 
enlist  other  aids  in  the  search. 

On  the  morning  of  the  eighth  day  Quincy  stood  upon 
the  steps  of  the  Fifth  Avenue  Hotel.  He  was  undecided 
which  way  to  go.  It  is  in  such  cases  of  absolute  uncer 
tainty  that  unseen  powers  should  give  their  aid,  if  they 
ever  do,  for  then  it  is  most  needed.  He  did  not  hear  any 
angels'  voices,  but  he  crossed  over  Broadway  and  started 
up  town  on  the  right-hand  side  of  that  great  thoroughfare. 
As  he  walked  on  he  glanced  at  the  shop  windows,  for  they 
were  resplendent  with  holiday  gifts,  for  Christmas  was  only 
one  short  week  away. 

Just  beyond  the  corner  of  Broadway  and  Twenty-ninth 
Street  his  attention  was  attracted  by  a  wax  figure  in  a  mil 
liner's  window.  The  face  and  golden  hair  reminded  him 
of  his  wife,  and  he  thought  how  pretty  Alice  would  look 
in  the  hat  that  was  upon  the  head  of  the  figure.  His  first 
inclination  was  to  go  in  and  buy  it,  then  he  thought  that  it 
would  make  an  unhandy  package  to  carry  with  him,  and 
besides  his  taste  might  not  be  appreciated. 

"Thinking,  however,  that  he  might  return  and  purchase 
it,  he  glanced  up  at  the  sign.  One  look  and  he  gave  a  sud 
den  start  backward,  coming-  violently  in  contact  with  a 
gentleman  who  was  passing.  Quincy's  apology  was  ac 
cepted  and  the  gentleman  passed  on,  giving  his  right 


150  QUINCY  ADAMS  SAWYER, 

shoulder  an  occasional  pressure  to  make  sure  that  it  was 
not  dislocated.  Then  Quincy  took  another  look  at  the 
sign  to  make  sure  that  he  had  not  been  mistaken.  On  it  he 
read,  in  large  golden  letters,  "Mdme.  Archimbault." 

It  was  but  the  work  of  an  instant  for  Quincy  to  enter  the 
store  and  approach  the  only  attendant,  who  was  behind  the 
counter  nearest  the  door. 

"Could  I  see  Mdme.  Archimbault?"  he  inquired  in  the 
politest  possible  manner. 

"Ze  madame  eez  seeck  zis  morning1,  monsieur,  mais  ze 
Mademoiselle  Celeste  eez  in  ze  boudoir.'' 

As  she  said  this  she  pointed  to  a  partition  with  windows 
of  ground  glass,  which  extended  across  the  farther  end  of 
the  store,  evidently  forming  a  private  department  for  try 
ing  on  hats  and  bonne's.  Quincy  said  nothing,  but  tak 
ing  out  his  cardcase  passed  one  to  the  attendant. 

The  girl  walked  towards  the  boudoir,  opened  the  door 
and  entered.  Quincy  followed  her,  and  was  but  a  few  feet 
from  the  door  when  it  was  closed.  He  heard  a  woman's 
voice_say,  "What  is  it,  Hortense?''  And  the  girl's  reply 
was  distinctly  audible.  This  is  what  she  said,  "A  veezitor, 
mademoiselle." 

An  instant's  silence,  followed  by  a  smothered  cry  of  as 
tonishment,  evidently  from  mademoiselle.  Then  ensued 
a  short  conversation,  carried  on  in  whispers.  Then  Hor- 
tense  emerged  from  the  boudoir,  and  facing  Quincy  said, 
"Ze  mademoiselle  weel  not  zee  you.  She  has  no  desire  to 
continue  ze  acquaintance.'* 

As  she  said  this  she  stepped  behind  the  counter,  evi 
dently  thinking  that  Quincy  would  accept  the  rebuff  and 
depart.  Instead  of  doing  this  he  took  a  step  forward, 
which  brought  him  between  Hortense  and  the  door  of  the 
boudoir.  Turning  to  the  girl  he  said  in  a  low  tone,  "There 
must  be  some  mistake.  I  have  never  met  Mademoiselle 
Archimbault.  I  will  go  in  and  explain  the  purpose  of  my 
visit.'*  And  before  Hortense  could  prevent  him,  Quincy 


LINDA'S  BIKTHRIGHT.  451 

had  entered  the  boudoir  and  closed  the  door  behind  him, 

In  the  centre  of  the  room  stood  a  beautifully  carved  and 
inlaid  table.  Before  it  sat  an  elegantly-dressed  woman, 
whose  hair,  artistically  arranged,  was  of  the  darkest  shade 
of  brown — almost  black.  Her  arms  were  crossed  upon  the 
table,  her  face  was  buried  in  them,  and  from  her  came  a 
succession  of  convulsive  sobs,  that  indicated  she  was  in 
great  physical  or  mental  distress. 

Quincy  felt  that  she  knew  he  was  there,  but  he  did  not 
speak. 

Finally  she  said,  and  there  was  a  tone  of  deep  suffering 
in  her  voice:  "Oh!  Algernon,  why  have  you  followed  me? 
I  can  never,  never  marry  you.  If  it  had  been  possible  I 
would  have  met  you  that  evening,  as  I  promised." 

The  thought  flashed  across  Quincy's  mind,  "This  is  the 
girl  that  ran  away  from  Lord  Hastings.  But  why  did  she 
call  me  Algernon?"  Then  he  spoke  for  the  first  time. 
"Mademoiselle,  there  k  some  misunderstanding;  my  name 
is  not  Algernon.  I  am  not  Lord  Hastings.'' 

As  he  spoke  he  looked  at  the  woman  seated  at  the  table. 
She  looked  up;  there  was  an  instantaneous,  mutual  recog 
nition.  In  her  astonishment  she  cried  out,  "Mr.  Sawyer!" 

As  these  words  fell  from  her  lips,  Quincy  said  to  himself, 
"Thank  God!  she's  found  at  last."  But  the  only  words 
that  he  spoke  aloud  were,  "Lindy  Putnam!'' 

"Why  do  I  find  you  here,''  asked  Quincy,  "and  under 
this  name?  Why  have  you  not  answered  my  advertise 
ments  in  the  'Herald?'"  And  he  sank  into  a  chair  on  the 
other  side  of  the  little  table. 

The  revulsion  of  feeling  was  so  great  at  his  double  dis 
covery  that  he  came  nearer  being  unmanned  than  ever  be 
fore  in  his  life. 

"How  did  you  come  by  this  card!"  asked  Mademoiselle 
Archimbault  in  a  broken  voice.  "When  you  have  ex 
plained,  I  will  answer  your  questions." 

Quincy  took  the  card  from  her  hand  and  glanced  at  it, 


452  QUINCT    ADAMS   SAWYER. 

"What  a  big  blunder  I  made  and  yet  what  a  fortunate  one," 
cried  he,  for  he  now  saw  that  he  had  sent  in  Lord  Hast 
irigs's  card  bearing  the  London  address.  "Lord  Hastings 
himself  gave  it  to  me/'  he  continued.  "He  was  a  guest  at 
my  father's  cottage  at  Nahant  last  summer.  He  came  to 
America  and  spent  three  months  vainly  searching  for  you. 
He  loves  you  devotedly,  and!  made  me  promise  that  if  I 
ever  found  you  I  would  cable  at  once  to  the  address  on 
that  card,  and  he  said  he  would  come  to  America  on  the 
next  steamer.  Of  course  when  I  made  that  promise  I  did 
not  know  that  Lindy  Putnam  and  Celeste  Archimbault 
were  one  and  the  same  person." 

"But  knowing  it  as  you  now  do,  Mr.  Sawyer,  you  will 
not  send  him  any  word.  Give  me  your  solemn  promise 
you  will  not.  I  cannot  marry  him.  You  know  I  cannot. 
There  is  no  Lindy  Putnam,  and  Celeste  Archimbault  has 
no  right  to  the  name  she  bears." 

"Did  you  come  to  New  York  when  you  left  Eastborough, 
as  you  promised  you  would?"  inquired  Quincy. 

"No,  I  did  not,  Mr.  Sawyer,"  said  she.  "Forgive  me, 
but  I  could  not.  I  was  distracted,  almost  heartbroken 
when  I  reached  Boston  the  day  she  died.  She  had  robbed 
me  of  all  hope  of  ever  finding  my  relatives,  and  but  for 
my  hatred  of  her  I  believe  I  would  have  had  brain  fever. 
One  thing  I  could  not  do,  I  would  not  do.  I  would  not 
remain  in  America.  I  was  rich,  I  would  travel  and  try  to 
drown  my  sorrow  and  my  hatred.  I  did  not  go  to  a  hotel, 
for  I  did  not  wish  any  one  to  find  me.  What  good  could 
it  do?  I  looked  in  the  'Transcript'  and  found  a  boarding 
place.  There  I  met  Mdme.  Archimbault,  a  widow,  a 
French-Canadian  lady,  who  had  come  to  Boston  in  search 
of  a  niece  who  had  left  her  home  in  Canada  some  five  years 
before.  Mdme.  Archimbault  had  spent  all  the  money  she 
had  in  her  unavailing  search  for  her  relative,  and  she  told 
me,  with  tears  in  her  eyes  and  expressive  French  gestures, 
that  she  would  have  to  sell  her  jewelry  to  pay  her  board, 


LINDA'S  BIETHEIGHT.  403 

as  she  had  no  way  of  making  a  living  in  a  foreign  land. 
Then  I  told  her  part  of  my  story.  She  was  sure  her  niece 
was  dead,  and  so  I  asked  her  to  be  my  mother,  to  let  me 
take  her  name  and  be  known  as  her  daughter.  I  told  her 
I  was  rich  and  that  I  would  care  for  her  as  long  as  our  com 
pact  was  kept  and  the  real  truth  not  known.  My  visit  to 
Nice  and  my  meeting  with  Algernon  Hastings,  he  has  no 
doubt  told  you.  I  did  not  know  he  was  a  lord,  but  I  sus 
pected  it.  So  much  the  more  reason  why  he  should  not 
marry  a  nameless  waif,  a  poor  girl  with  no  father  or  mother 
and  all  hope  lost  of  ever  finding  them.  I  came  back  to 
America  with  Mdme.  Archimbault,  covering  my  tracks  by 
cross  journeys  and  waits  which  he  could  not  anticipate. 
We  landed  in  Boston." 

"I  found  your  names  in  the  Quincy  House  register/'  re 
marked  Qtrincy. 

"I  don't  think  I  could  escape  from  you  as  easily  as  I  did 
from  him,"  she  said,  the  first  faint  sign  of  a  smile  showing 
itself  upon  her  face.  "I  went  to  my  bankers  in  Boston 
and  told  them  that  I  had  been  adopted  by  a  wealthy  French 
lady  named  Archimbault.  I  informed  them  that  we  were 
going  to  return  to  France  at  once.  They  made  up  my  ac 
count,  and  I  found  I  was  worth  nearly  one  hundred  and 
forty  thousand  dollars.  I  took  my  fortune  in  New  York 
drafts,  explaining  that  madame  wished  to  visit  relatives  in 
New  York,  and  that  we  should  sail  for  France  from  that 
port.  I  did  this  so  my  bankers  could  not  disclose  my 
whereabouts  to  any  one.  We  came  here,  but  I  could  not 
remain  idle.  I  always  had  a  natural  taste  for  millinery 
work,  so  I  proposed  to  madame  that  we  should  open  a 
store  under  her  name.  We  did  this  late  in  September, 
and  have  had  great  success  since  our  opening  day.  Now 
you  know  all  about  me,  Mr.  Sawyer.  Give  me  your  prom 
ise  that  you  will  not  tell  Lord  Hastings  where  I  am." 

"Then,"  said  Quincy,  "you  do  not  know  why  I  am  here." 


154  QUINCY  ADAMS  SAWYER. 

"To  keep  your  word  to  Lord  Hastings,  I  presume, 
What  other  reason  could  you  have?'' 

"Then  you  have  not  read  the  Personal  Column  in  the 
'New  York  Herald?' "  Quincy  inquired. 

"No,"  said  she.    "Why  should  I?" 

Quincy  took  a  copy  of  the  paper  from  his  pocket,  laid  it 
upon  the  table  and  pointed  with  his  finger  to  the  word 
"Linda."  She  read  the  advertisement,  then  looked  up  to 
him  with  distended  eyes,  full  of  questioning. 

"What  does  the  paper  say?  It  could  not  have  disclosed 
much  or  you  would  not  have  waited  so  long  to  tell  me." 

Then  Quincy  related  the  story  of  the  sealed  package, 
how  it  had  been  given  to  Alice  Pettengill  long  before  Mrs. 
Putnam  died ;  how  Miss  Pettengill  had  sworn  to  destroy  it, 
but  would  not  when  she  learned  that  it  might  possibly  con 
tain  information  relating  to  her  parents.  He  told  her  that 
Miss  Pettengill  would  not  allow  any  one  to  read  it  but  her 
self;  and  how  he  had  promised  to  search  for  her  until  he 
found  her.  Then  he  related  the  incident  at  the  lawyer's 
office  and  the  piece  of  cloth  bearing  the  name,  "Linda  Fern- 
borough,"  "which,"  said  Quincy,  "I  think  must  have  been 
your  mother's  maiden  name."  He  did  not  tell  her  of  the 
old  gentleman  only  five  blocks  away,  ready  and  willing  to 
claim  her  as  his  granddaughter  without  further  proof  than 
that  little  piece  of  cloth. 

Quincy  looked  at  his  watch.  "I  have  just  time,"  said 
he,  "to  get  the  one  o'clock  train  for  Boston.  I  will  obtain 
the  papers  to-morrow  morning,  and  be  in  New  York  again 
to-morrow  night.  The  next  morning  early  I  will  be  at 
your  residence  with  the  papers,  and  let  us  hope  that  they 
will  contain  such  information  as  will  disclose  your  parent 
age  and  give  you  a  name  that  you  can  rightfully  bear." 

She  wrote  her  home  address  on  a  card  and  passed  it  to 
him. 

He  gave  her  hand  a  quick,  firm  pressure  and  left  the 
store,  not  even  glancing  at  Hortense,  who  gazed  at  him 


LINDA'S   BIRTHK1GHT.  45S 

with  wonderment.  He  hailed  a  hack  and  was  driven  to 
the  hotel.  He  found  Sir  Stuart  and  told  him  that  he  had 
found  his  supposed  granddaughter,  but  that  he  must  wait 
until  he  returned1  from  Boston  with  the  papers,  that  his 
wife's  feelings  must  be  respected,  and  that  the  document 
could  only  be  opened  and  read  by  the  person  who  had  been 
known  to  her  as  Lindy  Putnam. 

Quincy  reached  Mt.  Vernon  Street  about  eight  o'clock 
that  evening.  His  wife  and  aunt  listened  eagerly  to  the 
graphic  recital  of  his  search.  He  pictured  the  somewhat 
sensational  episode  in  the  boudoir  in  the  most  expressive 
language,  and  Alice  remarked  that  Quincy  was  fast  gather 
ing  the  materials  for  a  most  exciting  romance ;  while  Aunt 
Ella  declared  that  the  disclosure  of  the  dual  personality  of 
Linda  and  Celeste  would  form  a  most  striking  theatrical 
tableau. 

Aunt  Ella  informed  him  that  she  had  been  requested  by 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Nathaniel  Adams  Sawyer  to  extend  an  invi 
tation  to  Miss  Bruce  Douglas  to  dine  with  them  on  any 
day  that  might  be  convenient  for  her.  "I  was  included  in 
the  invitation,  of  course,"  Aunt  Ella  added.  "What  day 
had  we  better  fix,  Quincy?"  she  inquired. 

"Make  it  Christmas,"  replied  Quincy.  "Tell  them  Miss 
Bruce  Douglas  has  invitations  for  every  other  day  but 
that  for  a  month  to  come.  What  a  precious  gift  I  shall 
present  to  my  father,"  said  he,  caressing  his  wife,  who  laid 
her  fair  head  upon  his  shoulder. 

"Do  you  think  he  will  be  pleased?"  asked  Alice. 

"I  don't  know  which  will  please  him  most,"  replied 
Quincy,  "the  fact  that  such  a  talented  addition  has  been 
made  to  the  family,  or  the  knowledge,  which  will  surely 
surprise  him,  that  his  son  was  smart  enough  to  win  such  a 
prize." 

The  next  morning  Quincy  arose  early  and  was  at  Curtis 
Carter's  office  as  soon  as  it  was  opened.  Alice  had  signed 
an  order  for  the  delivery  of  the  package  to  him  and  he  pre- 


416  QUJNCY  ADAMS   SAWYER. 

sented  it  to  Mr.  Carter's  clerk,  to  whom  he  was  well  known. 
The  ponderous  doors  of  the  big  safe  were  thrown  open  and 
the  precious  document  was  produced.  When  the  clerk- 
passed  the  package  to  him  and  took  Alice's  order  therefor, 
Quincy  noticed  that  a  five-dollar  bill  was  pinned  to  the  en 
velope;  a  card  was  also  attached  to  the  bill,  upon  which  was 
written:  "This  money  belongs  to  Mr.  Quincy  Sawyer;  he 
dropped  it  the  last  time  he  was  in  the  office." 

Quincy  would  not  trust  the  package  to  his  hand-bag,  but 
placed  it  in  an  inside  pocket  of  his  coat,  which  he  tightly 
buttoned.  After  leaving  the  lawyer's  office  he  dropped 
into  Grodjinski's,  and  purchased  a  box  of  fine  cigars.  He 
had  the  clerk  tack  one  of  his  cards  on  the  top  of  the  box. 
On  this  he  wrote: 

"Mv  DEAR  CURTIS: — Keep  the  ashes  for  me;  they  make 
good  tooth  powder.  QUINCY." 

The  box  was  then  done  up  and  addressed  to  Curtis  Car 
ter,  Esq.,  the  clerk  promising  to  have  it  delivered  at  once. 

Quincy  had  found  a  letter  at  his  aunt's  from  Mr.  Strout, 
asking  him  to  buy  a  line  of  fancy  groceries  and  confec 
tionery  for  Christinas  trade,  and  it  was  noon  before  he  had 
attended  to  the  matter  to  his  complete  satisfaction.  A 
hasty  lunch  and  he  was  once  more  on  his  way  to  New  York, 
and  during  the  trip  his  hand  sought  the  inside  pocket  of  his 
coat  a  score  of  times,  that  he  might  feel  assured  that  the 
precious  document  was  still  there. 

/  Arriving,  Quincy  proceeded  at  once  to  the  Fifth  Avemie 
Hotel.  Sir  Stuart  was  eagerly  awaiting  his  arrival,  and 
his  first  question  was,  "Have  you  the  papers?" 

Quincy  took  the  package  from  his  pocket  and  placed  it 
on  the  table  before  him,  remarking  as  he  did  so,  "It  must 
not  be  opened  until  to-morrow  morning,  and  then  by  the 
young  lady  herself." 

The  old  man  pushed  the  package  away  from  him  and 


LINDA'S  BIRTHRIGHT.  457 

turned  a  stern  face  toward  Quincy.  "I  yield  obedience/' 
said  he,  "to  your  wife's  command,  but  if  one  man  or  two 
stood  now  between  me  and  my  darling's  child,  I  would 
have  their  lives,  if  they  tried  to  keep  her  from  my  arms  for 
one  instant  even." 

After  a  little  reflection  he  apologized  for  his  vehement 
language,  and  sought  his  room  to  think,  and  hope,  and  wait 
• — but  not  to  sleep. 

The  next  morning,  a  little  before  nine  o'clock,  a  carriage 
containing  two  gentlemen  stopped  before  a  modest  brick 
dwelling  in  West  Forty-first  Street.  A  servant  admitted 
them  and  showed  them  into  the  little  parlor.  The  room 
was  empty.  Quincy  pointed  to  a  sofa  at  the  farther  end  of 
the  room,  and  Sir  Stuart  took  a  seat  thereon.  Quincy 
stepped  into  the  entry  and  greeted  Celeste,  who  was  just 
descending  the  stairs. 

"Sir  Stuart  Fernborough  is  in  your  parlor,"  said  he;  "he 
may  be,  and  I  hope  to  Heaven  he  is,  your  grandfather,  but 
you  must  control  your  feelings  until  you  know  the  truth. 
Come  and  sit  by  me,  near  the  window,  and  read  what  is 
written  in  this  package,  so  loud  that  he  can  hear  every 
word."  As  he  said  this  he  placed  the  package,  which  might 
or  might  not  prove  her  honorable  heritage,  in  her  hands. 

They  entered  the  room  and  took  seats  near  the  window. 
Celeste  opened  the  package  with  trembling  fingers.  As 
she  did  so  that  little  telltale  piece  of  cloth,  bearing  the 
name  "Linda  Fernborough,"  once  more  fell  upon  the  floor. 
Quincy  picked  it  up,  and  held  it  during  the  reading  of  the 
letter,  for  a  letter  it  proved  to  be. 

It  had  no  envelope,  but  was  folded  in  the  oU-fashioned 
way,  so  as  to  leave  a  blank  space  on  the  back  of  the  last 
sheet  for  the  address.  The  address  was,  "Mr.  Silas  Put 
nam,  Hanover,  New  Hampshire." 

Celeste  began  to  read  in  a  clear  voice:  "Dear  brother 
Silas." 

"Is  there  no  date?"  asked  Quincy. 


«58  QUINCY   ADAMS  SAWYER. 

"Oh,  yes,"  replied  Celeste,  "March  18,  183—." 
^Thirty  years  ago,"  said  Quincy. 
Celeste  read'  on: 

"DEAR  BROTHER  SILAS: — You  will,  no  doubt,  be 
to  find  I  am  in  this  town  when  I  usually  go  to  Gloucester 
or  Boston,  but  the  truth  is  I  had  a  strange  adventure  dur 
ing  my  last  fishing  trip  on  the  Polly  Sanders,  and  I  thought 
I  would  come  into  port  as  close  to  you  as  I  could.  About 
ten  days  ago  I  had  a  good  catch  on  the  Banks  and  sailed 
for  home,  bound  for  Boston.  A  heavy  fog  came  up.  and 
we  lay  to  for  more  than  twenty-four  hours.  During  the 
night,  heard  cries,  and  my  mate,  Jim  Brown,  stuck  to  it 
that  some  ship  must  have  run  ashore;  and  he  was  right, 
for  when  the  fog  lifted  we  saw  the  masts  of  a  three-master 
sticking  out  of  water,  close  on  shore,  and  about  a  mile 
from  where  we  lay.  We  up  sail  and  ran  down  as  close  as 
we  dared  to  see  if  there  was  anybody  living  on  the  wreck. 
We  couldn't  see  anybody,  but  I  sent  out  Jim  Brown  with 
a  boat  to  make  a  thorough  search.  In  about  an  hour  he 
came  back,  bringing  a  half-drowned  woman  and  just  the 
nicest,  chubbiest,  little  black-eyed  girl  baby  that  you  ever 
saw  in  your  life.  Jim  said  the  woman  was  lashed  to  a  spar, 
and  when  he  first  saw  her,  there  was  a  man  in  the  water 
swimming  and  trying  to  push  the  spar  towards  the  land, 
but  before  he  reached  him  the  man  sunk  and  he  didn't  get 
another  sight  of  him." 

"Oh,  my  poor  father!"  cried  Celeste.  The  letter  dropped 
from  her  hands  and  the  tears  rushed  into  her  eyes. 

"Shall  I  finish  reading  it?"  asked  Quincy,  picking  up  the 
letter. 

•Celeste  nodded,  and  he  read  on: 

"I  gave  the  woman  some  brandy  and  she  came  to  long 
enough  to  tell  me  who  she  was.  She  said  her  name  was 


LINDA'S  BIRTHRIGHT.  45ft 

Linda  Chester  or  Chessman,  I  couldn't  tell  just  which.  Her 
husband's  name  was  Charles,  and  he  was  an  artist.  He 
had  a  brother  in  Boston  named  Robert,  and  they  were  on 
their  way  to  that  city.  The  wrecked  ship  was  the  Cana 
dian  Belle,  bound  from  Liverpool  to  Boston.  I  didn't  tell 
her  her  husband  was  drowned.  I  gave  her  some  more 
brandy  and  she  came  to  again  and  said  her  husband  left  a 
lot  of  pictures  in  London  with  Roper  &  Son,  on  Ludgate 
Hill.  I  asked  her  where  she  came  from  and  she  said  from 
Heathfield,  in  Sussex.  She  said  no  more  and  we  couldn't 
bring  her  to  again.  She  died  in  about  an  hour  and  we  bur 
ied  her  at  sea.  I  noticed  that  her  nightdress  had  a  name 
stamped  on  it  different  from  what  she  gave  me,  and  so  I 
cut  it  out  and  send  it  in  this  letter.  Now,  I've  heard  you 
and  Heppy  say  that  if  you  could  find  a  nice  little  girl  baby 
that  you  would  adopt  her  and  bring  her  up.  I  sold  out  my 
cargo  at  Portland,  and  so  I've  put  in  here,  and  111  stay 
till  you  and  Heppy  have  time  to  drive  down  here  and  make 
up  your  minds  whether  you'll  take  this  handsome  little  baby 
off  my  hands.  Come  right  along,  quick,  for  I  must  be  off 
to  the  Banks  again  soon.  From  your  brother, 
OBED  PUTNAM, 

Captain  of  the  Polly  Sanders. 

"Portsmouth  Harbor,  N.  H. 

"P.  S.  The  baby  was  a  year  old  the  eighth  of  last  Jan 
uary.  Its  name  is  Linda  Fernborough  Chessman.'* 

The  tears  had  welled  up  again  in  the  young  girl's  eyes, 
when  Quincy  read  of  the  death  of  her  mother  and  her 
burial  at  sea.  His  own  hand  trembled  perceptibly  when 
he  realized  that  the  young  woman  before  him,  though  not 
his  cousin,  was  yet  connected  by  indisputable  ties  of  rela 
tionship  to  his  own  aunt,  Mrs.  Ella  Chessman.  Following 
his  usual  habit  of  reticence  he  kept  silence,  thinking  that  it 


460  QUINCY  ADAMS  SAWYER. 

would  be  inappropriate  to  detract  in  any  way  from  the 
happy  reunion  of  grandfather  and  granddaughter. 

Sir  Stuart  had  scarcely  moved  during  the  reading  of  the 
letter.  He  had  sat  with  his  right  hand  covering  his  eyes, 
but  yet  evidently  listening  attentively  to  each  word  as  it 
fell  from  the  reader's  lips.  As  Quincy  folded  up  the  letter 
and  passed  it  'back  to  Linda,  Sir  Stuart  arose  and  came  for 
ward  to  the  front  part  of  the  room.  Quincy  took  Linda's 
hand  and  led  her  towards  Mr.  Fernborough.  Then  he 
said,  "Sir  Stuart,  I  think  this  letter  proves  conclusively  that 
this  young  lady's  real  name  is  Linda  Fernborough  Chess 
man.  I  knew  personally  Mr.  Silas  Putnam,  mentioned  in 
the  letter,  and  scores  of  others  can  bear  testimony  that  she 
has  lived  nearly  all  her  life  with  this  Silas  Putnam,  and  has 
been  known  to  all  as  his  adopted  daughter.  There  is  no 
doubt  but  that  the  Linda  Fernborough  who  was  buried  at 
sea  was  her  mother.  If  you  are  satisfied  that  Mrs.  Charles 
Chessman  was  your  daughter,  it  follows  that  this  young 
lady  must  be  your  granddaughter." 

"There  is  no  doubt  of  it  in  my  mind,"  said  Sir  Stuart, 
taking  both  of  Linda's  hands  in  his.  "I  live  at  Fernbor- 
ough  Hall,  which  is  located  in  Heathfield,  in  the  county  of 
Sussex.  But,  my  dear,  I  did  not  know  until  to-day  that  my 
poor  daughter  had  a  child,  and  it  will  take  me  just  a  little 
time  to  get  accustomed  to  the  fact.  Old  men's  brains  do 
not  act  as  quickly  as  my  young  friend's  here.''  As  he  said 
this  he  looked  towards  Quincy.  "But  I  am  sure  that  we 
jboth  of  us  owe  to  him  a  debt  of  gratitude  that  it  will  be 
difficult  for  us  ever  to  repay.'' 

The  old  gentleman  drew  Linda  towards  him  and  folded 
her  tenderly  in  his  arms.  "Come,  rest  here,  my  dear  one,'' 
said  he;  "your  doubts  and  hopes,  your  troubles  and  trials, 
and  your  wanderings  are  over."  He  kissed  her  on  the  fore 
head,  and  Linda  put  her  arms  about  his  neck  and  laid  her 
head  upon  his  breast. 

"You  are  the  only  one  united  to  me  by  near  ties  of  blood 


LINDA'S  BIRTHRIGHT.  461 

in  the  world,"  Sir  Stuart  continued,  and  he  laid  his  hand 
on  Linda's  head  and  turned  her  face  towards  him.  "You 
have  your  mother's  eyes,"  he  said.  "We  will  go  back  to 
England,  and  Fernborough  Hall  will  have  a  mistress  once 
more.  You  are  English  born,  and  have  a  right  to  sit  in  that 
seat  which  might  have  been  your  mother's  but  for  the 
pride  and  prejudice  which  thirty  years  ago  ruled  both  your 
grandmother  and  myself." 

Leaving  them  to  talk  over  future  plans,  Quincy  went 
back  to  the  hotel  and  wrote  two  letters.  The  first  was 
addressed  to  Lord  Algernon  Hastings  in  London.  The 
other  was  a  brief  note  to  Aunt  Ella,  informing  her  that  a 
party  of  four  would  start  for  Boston  on  the  morning  train 
and  that  she  might  expect  them  about  four  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon. 

It  lacked  but  five  minutes  of  that  hour  when  a  carriage, 
containing  the  party  from  New  York,  stopped  before  the 
Mt.  Vernon  Street  house.  It  suited  Quincy's  purpose  that 
his  companions  should  first  meet  his  wife,  although  the 
fact  that  she  was  his  wife  was  as  yet  unknown  to  them. 

The  meeting  between  Alice  and  Linda  was  friendly,  but 
not  effusive.  They  had  been  ordinary  acquaintances  in 
the  old  days  at  Eastborough,  but  now  a  mutual  satisfaction 
and  pleasure  drew  them  more  closely  together. 

"I  have  come,"  said  Linda,  "to  thank  you,  Miss  Petten- 
gill,  for  your  kindness  and  justice  to  me.  Few  women 
would  have  disregarded  the  solemn  oath  that  Mrs.  Putnam 
forced  you  to  take,  but  by  doing  so  you  have  given  me  a 
lawful  name  and  a  life  of  happiness  for  the  future.  May 
every  blessing  that  Heaven  can  send  to  you  be  yours.'' 

"All  the  credit  should  not  be  given  to  me,''  replied  Alice. 
"The  morning1  after  Mrs.  Putnam's  death  I  was  undecided 
in  my  mind  which  course  to  follow,  whether  to  destroy  the 
paper  or  to  keep  it.  It  was  a  few  words  from  my  Uncle 
Isaac  that  enabled  me  to  decide  the  matter.  He  told  me 
that  a  promise  made  to  the  dead'  should  not  be  carried  out 


462  QUINCY   ADAMS   SAWYER, 

if  it  interfered  with  the  just  rights  of  the  living.  So  I 
decided  to  keep  the  paper,  but  how?  It  was  then  that  Mr. 
Sawyer  came  to  the  rescue  and  pointed  out  to  me  the  line 
of  action,  which  I  am  truly  happy  to  learn  has  ended  so 
pleasantly." 

"Grandpa  and  I  have  both  thanked  Mr.  Sawyer  so  much," 
said  Linda,  "that  he  will  not  listen  to  us  any  more,  but  I 
will  write  to  Uncle  Ike,  for  I  used  to  call  him  by  that  name, 
and  show  him  that  I  am  not  ungrateful.  I  have  lost  all  my 
politeness,  I  am  so  happy,"  continued  Linda;  "I  believe 
you  have  met  grandpa.'' 

Sir  Stuart  came  forward,  and,  in  courtly  but  concise  lan 
guage,  expressed  his  sincere  appreciation  of  the  kind  ser 
vice  that  Miss  Pettengill  had  rendered  his  granddaughter. 

Then  Linda  introduced  Mdme.  Archimbault  as  one  who 
had  been  a  true  friend  and  almost  a  mother  to  her  in  the 
hours  of  her  deepest  sorrow  and  distress. 

"Now,  my  friends,"  said  Quincy,  "I  have  a  little  surprise 
for  you  myself.  I  believe  it  my  duty  to  state  the  situation 
frankly  to  you.  My  father  is  a  very  wealthy  man — a  mil 
lionaire.  He  is  proud  of  his  wealth  and  still  more  proud  of 
the  honored  names  of  Quincy  and  Adams,  which  he  con 
ferred  upon  me.  Like  all  such  fathers  and  mothers,  my 
parents  have  undoubtedly  had  bright  dreams  as  to  the  fu 
ture  of  their  only  son.  One  of  their  dreams  has,  no  doubt, 
been  my  marriage  to  some  young  lady  of  honored  name 
and  great  wealth.  In  such  a  matter,  however,  my  own  mind 
must  decide.  I  have  acted  without  their  knowledge,  as  I 
resolved  to  deprive  them  of  the  pleasure  of  my  wife's  ac 
quaintance  until  Christmas  day.'' 

Stepping  up  to  Alice,  Quincy  took  her  hand  and  led  her 
forward,  facing  their  guests.  "I  take  great  pleasure,  my 
friends,  in  introducing  to  you  my  wife,  Mrs.  Quincy  Adams 
Sawyer." 

There  came  an  exclamation  of  pleased  surprise  from 
Linda,  followed  by  congratulations  from  all,  and  while 


LINDA'S  BIRTHRIGHT.  463 

these  were  being1  extended,  Aunt  Ella  entered  the  room. 
She  advanced  to  meet  Sir  Stuart,  who  had  been  present  at 
Alice's  reception.  Quincy  introduced  Mdme.  Archimbault, 
and  then  Aunt  Ella  turned  towards  Linda.  "This  is  the 
young  lady,  I  believe,"  said  she,  "who^  has  just  found  a 
long-lost  relative,  or  rather,  has  been  found  by  him.  You 
must  be  very  happy,  my  dear,  and  it  makes  me  very  happy 
to  know  that  my  nephew  and  niece,  who  are  so  dear  to  me, 
have  been  instrumental  in  bringing  this  pleasure  to  you. 
But  have  you  been  able  to  learn  your  mother's  name? 
Quincy  did  not  mention  that  in  his  letter.'' 

"Yes,"  said  Quincy,  stepping  forward,  "the  letter  con 
tained  that  information,  but  I  thought  I  would  rather  tell 
you  about  it  than  write  it.  My  dear  aunt,  allow  me  to  in 
troduce  to  you  Miss  Linda  Fernborough  Chessman." 

"What!"  cried  Aunt  Ella,  starting  back  in  astonishment. 

"Listen  to  me,  Aunt  Ella;''  and  taking  her  hand  in  his 
he  drew  her  towards  him.  "Your  husband  had  a  brother, 
Charles  Chessman;  he  was  an  artist  and  lived  in  England; 
while  there  he  married;  he  wrote  your  husband  some  thirty 
years  ago  that  he  was  going  to  return  to  America,  but 
Uncle  Robert,  you  told  me,  never  heard  from  him  again 
after  receiving  the  letter.'' 

"Yes,  yes!"  assented  Aunt  Ella;  "I  have  the  letter.  But 
what  is  the  mystery,  Quincy?  You  know  I  can  bear  any 
thing  but  suspense." 

"There  is  no  mystery,  auntie,  now;  it  is  all  cleared  up. 
Uncle  Robert's  brother  Charles  married  Linda  Fernbor* 
ough,  Sir  Stuart's  daughter.  The  vessel  in  which  father, 
mother,  and  child  sailed  for  America  was  wrecked.  Father 
and  mother  were  lost,  but  the  child  was  rescued.  This  is 
the  child.  Aunt  Ella,  Linda  Chessman  is  your  niece,  but 
unfortunately  I  am  unable  to  call  her  cousin." 

Aunt  Ella  embraced  Linda  and  talked  to  her  as  a  mother 
might  talk  to  her  daughter.  Her  delight  at  finding  this 
relative  of  the  husband  whom  she  had  loved  so  well  and 


464  QUIXCY    ADAMS    SAWYER. 

mourned  so  sincerely,  showed  itself  in  face,  and  voice,  and 
action.  Her  hospitality  knew  no  bounds.  Linda  must 
stay  with  her  a  month  at  least,  so  must  Sir  Stuart  and 
Mdme.  Archimbault.  It  was  the  holiday  season,  and  they 
must  all  feast  and  be  merry  over  this  happy,  unexpected 
return. 

It  was  a  joyous  party  that  gathered  in  the  dining-room  at 
A. ant  Ella's  house  that  evening.  She  said  that  such  an  occa 
sion  could  not  be  fitly  celebrated  with  plain  cold  water,  so  a 
•bottle  of  choice  old  port  was  served  to  Sir  Stuart,  and 
toasts  to  Mrs.  Sawyer  and1  Miss  Chessman  were  drunk  from 
glasses  rilled  with  foaming  champagne. 

Then  all  adjourned  to  Aunt  Ella's  room  and  Uncle 
Robert's  prime  cigars  were  offered  to  Sir  Stuart  and 
Quincy.  But  Aunt  Ella  had  too  much  to  say  to  think  of 
her  cigarette.  For  an  hour  conversation  was  genera); 
everybody  took  part  in  it.  The  events  of  the  past  year, 
which  were  of  so  great  interest  to  all  present,  were  gone 
over,  and  when  conversation  lagged  it  was  because  every 
body  knew  everything  that  everybody  else  knew. 

Quincy  spent  that  night  at  his  father's  house.  The  next 
morning  his  mother  told  him  that  the  author  had  selected 
Christmas  day  on  which  to  be  received  by  them  at  dinner, 
and  that  she  was  making  unusual  preparations  for  that 
event. 

"I  wish  I  codltl  invite  a  few  friends  to  meet  her  that 
<iay,"  said  Qwncy. 

"You  may  invite  as  many  as  you  choose,  Quincy,  if  you 
will  promise  to  be  here  yourself.  You  have  been  away 
from  home  so  much  the  past  year  I  hardly  anticipate  the 
pleasure  of  your  company  on  that  day." 

"Have  no  fear,  mother,''  Quincy  said.  "I  wish  very- 
much  to  meet  the  author  that  father  and  you  are  so  greatly 
pleased  with.  Of  course  Aunt  Ella  is  coming?'' 

"Certainly,"  answered  his  mother.  "I  understand  that 
the  author  has  been  stopping  with  her  since  the  reception." 


LINDA'S  BIRTHRIGHT.  466 

"I  shall  invite  five  friends,"  said  Quincy,  "and  you  may 
depend  upon  me." 

To  his  mother's  surprise  he  gave  her  a  slight  embrace,  a 
light  kiss  upon  her  cheek,  and  was  gone. 

The  sun  showed  its  cheerful  face  on  Christmas  morning. 
The  snow  that  fell  a  fortnight  previous  had  been  washed 
away  by  continued  heavy  rains.  A  cold  wind,  biting,  but 
healthful,  quickened  the  pulse  and  brought  roses  to  the 
cheeks  of  holiday  pedestrians. 

The  programme  for  the  meals  on  Christmas  day  had 
been  arranged  by  Mrs.  Sawyer  as  follows:  Breakfast  at 
nine,  dinner  at  one,  and1  a  light  supper  at  six.  It  had  al 
ways  been  the  rule  in  the  Sawyer  family  to  exchange  Christ 
mas  gifts  at  the  breakfast  hour.  Quincy  was  present,  and 
his  father,  mother,  and  sisters  thanked  him  for  the  valuable 
presents  that  bore  his  card.  Father,  mother,  and  sisters, 
on  their  part,  had  not  forgotten  Quincy,  and  the  reunited 
family  had  the  most  enjoyable  time  that  they  had  experi 
enced  for  a  year. 

As  Quincy  rose  to  leave  the  table,  he  said  to  his  mother, 
"I  have  another  gift  for  father  and  you,  but  it  has  not  yet 
arrived.  I  am  going  to  see  about  it  this  morning." 

"You  will  be  sure  to  come  to  dinner,  Quincy,"  fell  from 
his  mother's  lips. 

"I  promise  you,  mother,"  he  replied.  "I  would  not  miss 
it  for  anything.'' 

A  little  after  noontime,  the  Chessman  carriage  arrived 
at  the  Beacon  Street  mansion  of  the  Hon.  Nathaniel 
Adams  Sawyer,  and  a  moment  later  Mrs.  Ella  Chessman 
and  the  young  author,  Bruce  Douglas,  were  ushered  into 
the  spacious  and  elegant  parlor.  They  were  received  by 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Sawyer  and  their  daughter  Florence. 

Twenty  minutes  later  a  carriage  arrived  before  the  same 
mansion.  Its  occupants  were  Sir  Stuart  Fernborough,  his 
granddaughter,  and  Mdme.  Archimbault.  A  few  minutes 
later  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Leopold  Ernst  appeared,  having  walked 


466  QUINCY  ADAMS  SAWYER. 

the  short  distance  from  their  rooms  on  Chestnut  Street. 
The  new  arrivals  were  presented  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Sawyer 
by  Mrs.  Chessman,  and  a  pleasant  ante-prandial  conversa 
tion  was  soon  under  way. 

From  behind  the  curtains  of  a  second-story  window  of 
the  mansion,  a  young  miss  had  watched  the  arrival  and  de 
parture  of  the  carriages.  As  the  second  one  drove  away 
she  exclaimed,  "Oh!  what  a  lark!  Those  last  folks  came  in 
Aunt  Ella's  carriage,  too.  I  bet  Quincy  and  auntie  have 
put  up  some  sort  of  a  game  on  pa  and  ma.  I  won't  go 
down  stairs  till  Quincy  comes,  for  I  want  to  give  my  new 
sister  a  hug  and  a  squeeze  and  a  kiss,  and  I  sha'n't  dare  to 
do  it  till  Quincy  has  introduced  her  to  pa  and  ma." 

At  that  moment  the  young  man,  faultlessly  attired,  came 
down  stairs  from  the  third  story,  and  Maude  sprang  out 
from  her  doorway  on  the  second  floor  and  said  in  a  whis 
per,  "How  long  have  you  been  home,  Quincy?" 

"I  came  in  about  half-past  eleven,"  he  replied. 

"Oh,  you  rogue,"  cried  Maude.  "I  have  been  watching 
out  the  window  for  an  hour.  I  see  it  all  now,  you  don't 
mean  to  give  pa  and  ma  a  chance  to  say  boo  until  after 
dinner.  Let  me  go  down  first,  Quincy." 

Maude  went  down  stairs  and  was  duly  presented  to  the 
assembled  guests  as  the  youngest  scion  of  the  house  of 
Sawyer. 

At  exactly  five  minutes  of  one  Quincy  entered  the  parlor 
through  the  rear  door.  Aunt  Ella  and  Alice  were  seated 
side  by  side  between  the  two  front  windows.  As  Quincy 
advanced  he  exchanged  the  compliments  o>f  the  season  with 
the  guests.  Finally  the  Hon.  Nathaniel  and  his  son  Quincy 
stood  facing  Aunt  Ella  and  Alice. 

"Quincy,"  said  his  father,  in  slow,  measured  tones,  "it 
gives  me  great  pleasure  to  present  you  to  the  celebrated 
young  author,  Bruce  Douglas." 

Quincy  bent  low,  and  Alice  inclined  her  head  in  acknowl 
edgment.  He  reached  forward,  clasped  her  hand  in  his  and 


LINDA'S  BIETHRIGHT.  407 

took  his  place  by  her  side.  "Father,  mother,  and  sisters," 
he  cried,  and  there  was  a  proud  tone  in  his  clear,  ringing 
voice,  "there  is  still  another  presentation  to  be  made — that 
Christmas  gift  of  which  I  spoke  this  morning  at  breakfast. 
You  see  I  hold  this  lady  by  the  hand,  which  proves  that 
we  are  friends  and  not  strangers.  To  her  friends  in  the 
town  of  Eastborough,  where  she  was  born,  the  daughter  of 
an  honest  farmer,  who  made  a  frugal  living  and  no  more, 
she  was  known  by  the  name  of  Mary  Alice  Pettengill.  To 
the  story  and  book-reading  public  of  the  United  States,  she 
is  known  as  Bruce  Douglas,  but  to  me  she  is  known  by  the 
sacred  name  of  wife.  I  present  to  you  as  a  Christmas  gift, 
a  daughter  and  a  sister.'' 

There  was  a  moment  of  suspense,  and  all  eyes  were  fixed 
upon  the  parents  so  dramatically  apprised  of  their  son's 
marriage.  The  Hon.  Nathaniel  cleared  his  throat,  and  ad 
vancing  slowly,  took  Alice's  hand  in  his  and  said,  "It  give* 
me  great  pleasure  to  welcome  as  a  daughter  one  so  highly 
faA'ored  by  nature  with  intellectual  powers  and  such  marked1 
endowments  for  a  famous  literary  career.  I  am  confident! 
that  the  reputation  of  our  family  will  gain  rather  than  lose- 
by  such  an  alliance.'' 

"He  thinks  her  books  are  going  to  sell,"  remarked  Le£" 
pold  to  his  wife. 

Mrs.  Nathaniel  Adams  Sawyer  took  Alice's  hand  in  hers 
and  kissed  her  upon  the  cheek.  "You  will  always  be  wel 
come,  my  daughter,  at  our  home.  I  know  we  shall  lea^n 
to  love  you  in  time." 

It  was  Florence's  turn  now.  Like  her  mother,  she  took 
her  new  sister's  hand  and  gave  her  a  society  kiss  on  the 
cheek.  Then  she  spoke:  "As  mother  said,  I  know  I  shall 
learn  to  love  you,  sister,  in  time." 

A  slight  form  dashed  through  the  front  parlor  d'oor,  and 
throwing  her  arms  about  Alice's  neck,  gave  her  a  hearty 
kiss  upon  the  lips.  "My  sweet  sister,  Alice,  I  love  you  now, 
and  I  always  shall  love  you,  and  I  think  my  brother  Quincy 


468  QUINCY  ADAMS  SAWYER. 

is  just  the  luckiest  man  in  the  world  to  get  such  a  nice 
wife." 

Then  abashed  at  her  own  vehemance,  she  got  behind 
Aunt  Ella,  who  said  to  herself,  "Maude  has  got  some 
heart." 

Dinner  was  announced.  The  Hon.  Nathaniel  Adams 
Sawyer  offered1  his  arm  to  Mrs.  Quincy  Adams  Sawyer, 
and  they  led  the  holiday  procession.  Sir  Stuart  Fernbor* 
ough,  M.  P.,  escorted  Mrs.  Sarah  Quincy  Sawyer;  next 
came  Mr.  Leopold  Ernst  and  Miss  Linda  Fernborough 
Chessman,  followed  by  Mr.  Quincy  Adams  Sawyer  and 
Mrs.  Leopold  Ernst;  behind  them  walked,  arm  in  arm,  Mrs. 
Ella  Quincy  Chessman  and  Mdme.  Rose  Archimbault; 
while  bringing  up  the  rear  came  the  Misses  Florence  Es- 
telle  and  Maude  Gertrude  Sawyer.  Maude  had  politely 
offered  her  arm  to  Florence,  but  the  latter  had  firmly  de 
clined  to  accept  it.  In  this  order  they  entered  the  gor 
geous  dining-room  and  took  their  places  at  a  table  bearing 
evidences  of  the  greatest  wealth,  if  not  the  greatest  refine 
ment,  to  partake  of  their  Christmas  dinner. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

FERNBOROUGH. 

IVE  years  passed  away,  years  of  not  unmixed  happi 
ness  for  any  of  those  with  whom  this  story  has  made 
us  acquainted.  Quincy  and  Alice  had  undergone  a  severe 
trial  in  the  loss  of  two  of  the  three  little  ones  that  had  been 
born  to  them;  the  remaining  child  was  a  fair  little  boy, 
another  Quincy,  and  upon  him  the  bereaved  parents  lav 
ished  ail  the  wealth  of  their  tenderness  and  affection. 

In  his  political  life,  however,  Quincy  had  found  only 
smooth  and  pleasant  sailing,  and  thanks  to  his  bright  and 
energetic  nature,  and  not  a  little,  perhaps,  to  his  father's 
name  and  influence,  he  had  risen  rapidly  from  place  to  place 
and  honor  to  honor.  One  of  his  earliest  political  moves 
had  been  the  introduction  of  a  bill  into  the  House  for  the 
separation  of  Mason's  Corner  and  Eastbrough  into  indi 
vidual  communities. 

Soon  after  the  incorporation  of  the  former  town  under 
its  new  name  of  Fernborough,  Abbot  Smith,  at  Quincy's 
suggestion,  had  started  the  Fernborough  Improvement 
Association,  and  now  after  these  few  years,  the  result  of  its 
labors  was  plainly  and  agreeably  apparent.  The  ruins  of 
Uncle  Ike's  chicken  coop  had  been  removed,  and  grass 
covered  its  former  site.  Shade  trees  had  been  planted  along 
all  the  principal  streets,  for  the  new  town  had  streets  in 
stead  of  roads.  The  three-mile  road  to  Eastborough  Cen 
tre  had  been  christened  Mason  Street,  and  the  square  be 
fore  Strout  &  Maxwell's  store  had  been  named  Mason 
Square.  Mrs.  Hawkins's  'boarding  house  had  become  a 
hotel,  and  was  known  as  the  Hawkins  House.  The  square 


470  QUINCY  ADAMS  SAWYER. 

before  the  church  was  called  Howe's  Square,  in  honor  of 
the  aged  minister.  The  old  Montrose  road  was  now  dig 
nified  by  the  appellation  of  Montrose  Avenue.  The  upper 
road  to  Eastborough  Centre  that  led  by  the  old  Putnam 
house  was  named  Pettengill  Street,  although  Ezekiel  pro 
tested  that  it  was  a  "mighty  poor  name  for  a  street,  even 
if  it  did  answer  all  right  for  a  man.''  The  great  square 
facing  Montrose  Avenue,  upon  which  the  Town  Hall  and 
the  Chessman  Free  Public  Library  had  been  built,  was 
called  Putnam  Square.  On  three  sides  of  it,  wide  streets 
had  been  laid  out,  on  which  many  pretty  houses  had  been 
erected.  These  three  streets  had  been  named  Ouincy 
Street,  Adams  Street,  and  Sawyer  Street. 

It  was  the  morning  of  the  fifteenth  of  June,  a  gala  day  in 
the  history  of  the  town.  The  fifth  anniversary  of  the  laying 
of  the  corner  stone  of  the  Town  Hall  and  the  library  was 
to  be  commemorated  by  a  grand  banquet  given  in  the  Town 
Hall,  and  was  to  -be  graced  by  many  distinguished  guests, 
among  them  the  Hon.  Quincy  Adams  Sawyer  and  wife, 
and  Mrs.  Ella  Chessman.  After  the  banquet,  which  was  to 
take  place  in  the  evening,  there  was  to  be  an  open-air  con 
cert  given,  followed  by  a  grand  display  of  fireworks.  Dur 
ing  the  feast,  the  citizens  were  to  be  admitted  to  the  gal 
leries,  so  that  they  could  see  the  guests  and  listen  to  the 
speeches. 

About  ten  o'clock  the  visiting  party  started  off  to  view 
the  sights  of  the  town.  Under  the  leadership  of  the  town 
officers  they  turned  their  steps  first  towards  the  new  li 
brary.  On  entering  this  handsome  building,  they  observed 
hung  over  the  balcony,  facing  them,  a  large  oil  painting  of 
a  beautiful  dark-haired,  dark-eyed  woman,  dressed  in  satin 
and  velvet  and  ermine,  and  having  a  coronet  upon  her 
head.  Underneath  was  a  tablet  bearing  an  inscription. 

"An  admirable  portrait,"  said  Quincy  to  his  wife.  "Can 
you  read  the  tablet,  dear?  I  fear  I  shall  really  have  to  see 
Dr.  Tillotson  about  my  eyes." 


FERNBORObGH.  471 

Alice  smiled  at  the  allusion,  and  directing  her  gaze  upon 
it,  read  without  the  slightest  hesitation:  "Linda  Putnam, 
once  a  resident  of  this  town,  now  Countess  of  Sussex,  and 
donor  of  this  library  building,  which  is  named  in  honor  of 
her  father,  Charles  Chessman,  only  brother  of  Robert 
Chessman." 

During  the  evening  festivities  the  Town  Hall  was  bril 
liantly  lighted,  and  every  seat  in  the  galleries  and  coigns  of 
vantage  were  occupied.  The  guests  at  the  banquet  num 
bered  fully  sixty.  A  Boston  caterer,  with  a  corps  of  trained 
waiters,  had  charge  of  the  dinner.  During  its  progress  the 
Cottonton  Brass  Band  performed  at  intervals.  They  were 
stationed  in  Putnam  Square,  and  the  music  was  not  an 
oppressive  and  disturbing  element,  as  it  often  is  at  close 
range  on  such  occasions. 

When  coffee  was  served,  Toastmaster  Obadiah  Strout, 
Esq.,  arose,  and  the  eyes  of  banqueters  and  sightseers  were 
turned  toward  him. 

"This  is  a  glorious  day  in  the  history  of  our  town/'  the 
toastmaster  began.  "The  pleasant  duty  has  fallen  to  me  of 
proposing  the  toasts  to  which  we  shall  drink,  and  of  intro 
ducing  our  honored  guests  one  by  one.  I  know  that  words 
o-f  advice  and  encouragement  will  come  from  them.  But 
before  I  perform  the  duties  that  have  been  allotted  to  me, 
it  is  my  privilege  to  make  a  short  address.  Instead  of  do 
ing  so,  I  shall  tell  you  a  little  story,  and  it  will  be  a  differ 
ent  kind  of  a  story  from  what  I  have  been  in  the  habit  of 
telling." 

This  remark  caused  an  audible  titter  to  arise  from  some 
of  the  auditors  in  the  galleries,  and  Abner  Stiles,  who  was 
sitting  behind  Mrs.  Hawkins,  leaned  over  and  said  to  her, 
"I  guess  he's  goin'  to  tell  a  true  story." 

The  toastmaster  continued:  "More  than  six  years  ago  a 
young  man  from  the  city  arrived  in  this  town.  It  was 
given  out  that  he  came  down  here  for  his  health,  but  he 
wasn't  so  sick  but  that  he  could  begin  to  take  an  active  part 


472  QUINCY   ADAMS  SAWYER. 

in  town  affairs  as  soon  as  he  got  here.  They  say  confession 
is  good  for  the  soul,  and  I'm  goin'  to  confess  that  I  didn't 
take  to  this  young  man.  I  thought  he  was  a  city  swell, 
who  had  come  down  here  to  show  off,  and  in  company 
with  several  friends,  who  looked  at  his  visit  down  here 
about  the  same  as  I  did,  we  did  all  we  could  for  a  couple  of 
months  to  try  and  drive  him  out  of  town.  Now  I  am 
comin'  to  the  point  that  I  want  to  make.  If  we  had  let  him 
alone  the  chances  are  that  he  wouldn't  have  stayed  here 
more  than  a  month  any  way.  Now,  s'posen  he  had  gone 
home  at  the  end  of  the  month;  in  that  case  he  never  would 
have  met  the  lady  who  sits  by  his  side  to-night,  and  who  by 
her  marriage  has  added  new  lustre  to  her  native  town.  If 
he  had  not  remained,  she  never  would  have  written  those 
stories  which  are  known  the  world  over,  and  I  tell  you,  fel 
low-citizens,  that  in  writing  Blennerhassett,  An  American 
Countess,  The  Majesty  of  the  Law,  and  The  Street  Boy,  she 
has  done  mo-re  to  make  this  town  famous  than  all  the  men 
who  were  ever  born  in  it." 

The  speaker  paused  and  drank  a  glass  of  water,  while 
cheers  and  applause  came  from  all  parts  of  the  gallery. 
Abner  Stiles  apparently  forgot  his  surroundings,  and, 
thinking  probably  that  it  was  a  political  rally,  called  out, 
"Three  cheers  for  Alice  Pettengill"!  which  were  given  with 
a  will,  much  to  his  delight^  and  the  surprise  of  the  ban 
queters. 

The  toastmaster  resumed:  "If  he  had  gone  away  dis 
gusted  with  the  town  and  its  people,  he  never  would  have 
found  out  who  Linda  Putnam  really  was,  and  she,  conse 
quently,  would  never  have  been  what  she  is  to-day,  a  peer 
ess  of  England  and  the  great  benefactress  of  this  town,  a 
lady  who  will  always  have  our  deepest  affection  and  most 
sincere  gratitude." 

Again  the  orator  paused,  and  the  audience  arose  to  its 
feet.  Applause,  cheers,  and  the  waving  of  handkerchiefs 
attested  that  the  speaker's  words  had  voiced  the  popular 


FERNBOROTJGH.  473 

feeling.  Once  more  Abner  Stiles's  voice  rose  above  the 
din,  and  three  cheers  for  "Lindy  Putnam,  Countess  of  Sus 
sex,''  were  given  with  such  a  will  that  the  band  outside 
caught  the  enthusiasm  and  played  "God  Save  the  Queen," 
which  most  of  the  audience  supposed  was  "America." 

"In  conclusion,"  said  the  orator,  "I  have  one  more  point 
to  make,  and  that  is  a  purely  personal  one.  Some  writer 
has  said  the  end  justifies  the  means,  and  another  writer  puts 
it  this  way,  'Do  evil  that  good  may  come.'  In  these  two 
sayin's  lies  all  the  justification  for  many  sayin's  and  doin's 
that  can  be  found;  and  if  I  were  a  conceited  man  or  one  in 
clined  to  praise  my  own  actions,  I  should  say  that  the  good 
fortune  of  many  of  our  distinguished  guests  this  evening, 
and  the  handsome  financial  backin'  that  this  town  has  re 
ceived,  are  due  principally  to  my  personal  exertions." 

Here  the  speaker  paused  again  and  wiped  his  forehead, 
which  was  bedewed  with  perspiration. 

"Good  Lord!"  said  Mrs.  Hawkins  to  Olive  Green,  who 
sat  next  to  her,  "to  hear  that  man  talk  anybuddy  would 
think  that  nobuddy  else  in  the  town  ever  did  anything.'' 

"To  conclude,''  said  the  speaker,  "I  don't  wish,  feller- 
citizens,  to  have  you  understand  that  I  am  defendin'  my 
actions.  They  were  mean  in  spirit  and  mean  in  the  way  in 
which  they  were  done,  but  the  one  against  whom  they  were 
directed  returned  good  for  evil,  and  heaped  coals  of  fire  on 
tny  head.  At  a  time  when  events  made  me  think  he  was 
fny  greatest  enemy,  he  became  my  greatest  friend.  It  is  to 
his  assistance,  advice,  and  influence  that  I  owe  the  present 
honorable  position  that  I  hold  in  this  town,  and  here  to 
night,  in  his  presence,  and  in  the  presence  of  you  all,  I 
have  made  this  confession  to  show  that  I  am  truly  repentant 
for  the  past.  At  the  same  time,  I  cannot  help  rejoicing  in 
the  good  fortune  that  those  misdeeds  were  the  means  of  se- 
curin'  for  us  all." 

As  tfie  speaker  sat  down,  overcome  with  emotion,  he  was 
greeted  with  applause,  which  was  redoubled  when  Mr.  Saw- 


474  QUINCY  ADAMS   SAWYER. 

yer  arose  in  his  seat.  But  when  Quincy  leaned  forward  and 
extended  his  hand  to  Strout,  which  the  latter  took,  the  ex 
citement  rose  to  fever  heat,  and  cheers  for  Quincy  Adams 
Sawyer  and  Obadiah  Strout  resounded  throughout  the  hall 
and  fell  upon  the  evening  air.  This  time  the  band  played 
"The  Star  Spangled  Banner.'* 

Again  the  toastmaster  arose  and  said,  "Ladies  and  gen 
tlemen,  the  first  toast  that  I  am  going  to  propose  to-night  is 
a  double  one,  because,  for  obvious  reasons,  it  must  include 
not  only  the  State,  but  its  chief  representative,  who  is  with 
us  here  to-night.  Ladies  and  gentlemen,  let  us  drink  to  the 
Old  Bay  State,  and  may  each  loyal  heart  say  within  itself, 
'God  save  the  Commonwealth  of  Massachusetts!"1  The 
guests  touched  their  lips  to  their  glasses.  "And  now/' 
continued  the  toastmaster,  "to  his  Excellency  QUINCY 
ADAMS  SAWYER,  Governor  of  the  Commonwealth,  whom 
I  have  the  honor  of  introducing  to  you." 

The  Governor  arose  amid  wild  applause  and  loud  accla 
mations,  while  the  band  played  "Hail  to  the  Chief  1" 


THE  END. 


A  FEW  OF 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP'S 
Great  Books  at  Little  Prices 

NEW,  CLEVER,  ENTERTAINING. 

GRET;    The  Story  of  a  Pagan.    By  Beatrice  Mantle.    Illustrated 

by  C.  M.  Relyea, 

The  wild  free  life  of  an  Oregon  lumber  camp  furnishes  the  setting  for  this 
strong  original  story.    Gret  is  the  daughter  of  the  camp  and  is  utterly  con 
tent  with  the  wild  life— until  love  comes.    A  fine  book,  unmarred  by  con 
vention. 
OLD  CHESTER  TALES.     By  Margaret  Deland.     Illustrated 

by  Howard  Pyle. 

A  vivid  yet  delicate  portrayal  of  characters  in  an  old  New  England  town. 

Dr.  Lavendar's  fine,  kindly  wisdom  is  brought  to  bear  upon  the  lives  at 

all,  permeating  tha  whole  volume  like  the  pungent  odor  of  pine,  healthful 

and  life  giving.    "  Old  Chester  Tales  "  will  surely  be  among  the  books  that 

abide. 

THE  MEMOIRS  OF  A  BABY.    By  Josephine  Daskam.    Illus 
trated  by  F.  Y.  Cory. 

The  dawning  intelligence  of  the  baby  was  grappled  with  by  its  great  aunt, 
i  an  elderly  maiden,  whose  book  knowledge  ofbabies  was  something  at  which 
even  the  infant  himself  winked.    A  delicious  bit  of  humor. 
REBECCA  MARY.      By  Annie  Hamilton  Donnell.      Illustrated 

by  EHzabeth  Shippen  Green. 

The  heart  tragedies  of  this  little  girl  with  no  one  near  to  share  them,  an 
told  with  a  delicate  art,  a  keen  appreciation  of  the  needs  of  the  cbildisL 
heart  and  a  humorous  knowledge  of  the  workings  of  the  childish  mind. 
THE  FLY  ON  THE  WHEEL.    By  Katherine  Cecil  Thurstcn. 

Frontispiece  by  Harrison  Fisher. 

An  Irish  story  of  real  power,  perfect  in  development  and  showing  a  triu. 
conception  of  the  spirited  Hibernian  character  as  displayed  in  the  tragic  a» 
well  as  the  tender  phases  of  life. 
THE  MAN  FROM  BRODNEY'S.    By  George  BarrMcCutcheon. 

Illustrated  by  Harrison  Fisher. 

An  island  in  the  South  Sea  is  the  setting  for  this  entertaining  tale,  and 
an  all-conquering  hero  and  a  beautiful  princess  figure  in  a  most  complicated 
plot.    One  of  Mr.  McCutcheon's  best  books. 
TOLD  BY  UNCLE  REMUS.    By  Joel  Chandler  Harris.    Illus- 

trated  by  A.  B.  Frost,  J.  M.  Conde  and  Frank  Verbeck. 
•  Again  Uncle  Remus  enters  the  fields  of  childhood,  and  leads  another 
little  boy  to  that  non-locatab!e  land  called  "  Brer   Rabbit's   Laughing 
Place,"  and  again  the  quaint  animals  spring  into  active  life  and  play  theii 
parts,  for  the  edification  of  a  small  but  appreciative  audience. 

THE  CLIMBER.    By  E.  F.  Benson.     With  frontispiece. 

An  unsparing  analysis  of  an  ambitious  woman's  soul— a  woman  who 
believed  that  in  social  supremacy  she  would  find  happiness,  and  who  finds 
instead  the  utter  despair  of  one  who  has  chosen  the  things  that  pass  away. 
SYNCH'S  DAUGHTER.  By  Leonard  Merrick.  Illustrated  by 

Geo.  Brehm. 

_  A  story  of  to-day,  telling  how  a  rich  girl  acquires  ideals  of  beautiful  and 
simple  living,  and  of  men  and  love,  quite  apart  from  the  teachings  of  her 
father,  "  Old  Man  Lynch  "JofJWall  St.  True  to  life,  clever  in  treatment, 

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DRAMATIZED  NOVELS 

A  Few  that  are  Making  Theatrical  History 

MARY  JANE'S  PA.    By  Norman  Way.    Illustrated  with  scenes 

from  the  play. 

Delightful,  irresponsible  "  Mary  Jane's  Pa  "  awakes  one  morning  to  find 
himseit  famous,  and,  genius  being  ill  adapted  to  domestic  joys,  lie  wanders 
from  home  to  work  out  his  own  unique  destiny.  One  of  the  most  humorou  J 
bits  of  recent  fiction. 

CHERUB  DEVINE.    By  Sewell  Ford. 

"  Cherub,"  a  good  hearted  but  not  over  refined  your.g  man  -Is  brought  In 
touch  with  the  aristocracy.  Of  sprightly  wit,  he  is  sometimes  a  merciless 
analyst,  but  he  proves  in  the  end  that  manhood  counts  for  more  than  anci 
ent  lineage  by  winning  the  love  cf  the  fairest  girl  in  the  flock. 

WOMAN'S  WAY.     By  Charles  Somerville.    Illustrated  with 
scenes  from  the  play. 

A  story  in  which  a  woman's  wit  and  self-sacrificing  love  save  her  husbancj 
?/om  the  toils  of  an  adventuress,  and  change  an  apparently  tragic  situation 
into  one  of  delicious  comedy. 

THE  CLIMAX.    By  George  C.  Jenks. 

With  ambition  luring  her  on,  a  young  choir  soprano  leaves  the  little  villaga 
where  she  was  born  and  the  limited  audience  of  St.  Jude's  to  train  for  thu 
opera  in  New  York.  She  leaves  love  behind  her  and  meets  love  more  ardent 
but  not  more  sincere  in  her  new  environment.  How  she  works,  how  sha 
studies,  how  she  suffers,  are  vividly  portrayed. 

A  FOOL  THERE  WAS.     By  Porter  Emerson  Browne.     Illus. 
trated  by  Edmund  Magrath  and  W.  W.  Fawcett. 

A  relentless  portrayal  of  the  career  of  a  man  who  comes  under  the  influence 
of  a  beautiful  but  evil  woman ;  how  she  lures  him  on  and  on,  how  he 
struggles,  falls  and  rises,  only  to  fall  again  into  her  net,  make  a  story  of 
unflinching  realism, 

THE   SQUAW   MAN.     By  Julie  Opp  Faversham  and  Edwin 

Milton  Royle.    Illustrated  with  scenes  from  the  play. 
A  glowing  story,  rapid  in  action,  bright  in  Dialogue  with  a  fine  courageous 
hero  and  a  beautiful  English  heroine. 

THE  GIRL  IN  WAITING.     By  Archibald  Eyre.     Illu3trated 

with  scenes  from  the  play. 

A  droll  little  comedy  of  misunderstandings,  told  with  a  light  touch,  a  vei»* 
Tiresome  spirit  and  an  eye  for  human  oddities. 

THE    SCARLET    PIMPERNEL.     By  Baroness  Orczy.     Illus 
trated  with  scenes  from  the  play. 

A  realistic  story  of  the  days  of  the  French  Revolution,  abounding  ir 
dramatic  incident,  with  a  your.g  English  soldier  of  fortune,  daring,  m>steri- 
ous  as  the  hero, 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  526  WEST  26th  ST.,  NEW 


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QUINCY  ADAMS  SAWYER.  A  Picture  of  New 
England  Home  Life.  With  illustrations  by  C.  W< 
Reed,  and  Scenes  Reproduced  from  the  Play. 

One  of  the  best  New  England  stories  'ever  written.  It  is 
full  of  homely  human  interest  *  *  *  there  is  a  wealth  of  frew 
England  village  character,  scenes  and  incidents  *  *  *  forcibly, 
vividly  and  truthfully  drawn.  Few  books  have  enjoyed  a 
greater  sale  and  popularity.  Dramatized,  it  made  the  great* 
est  rural  play  of  recent  times. 

THE  FURTHER  ADVENTURES  OF  QUINCY 
ADAMS  SAWYER.  By  Charles  Felton  Pidgin. 
Illustrated  by  Henry  Roth. 

All  who  love  honest  sentiment,  quaini  and  sunny  humort 
and  homespun  philosophy  will  find  these  "  Further  Adven* 
tures"  a  book  after  their  own  heart. 

HALF  A  CHANCE.  By  Frederic  S<  Isham.  Illus 
trated  by  Herman  Pfeifer. 

The  thrill  of  excitement  will  keep  the  reader  in  a  state  of 
suspense,  and  he  will  become  personally  concerned  from  the 
start,  as  to  the  central  character,  a  very  real  man  who  suffers, 
dares — and  achieves ! 

VIRGINIA  OF  THE  AIR  LANES.  By  Herbert 
Quick.  Illustrated  by  William  R.  Leigh. 

The  author  has  seized  the  romantic  moment  for  the  airship 
novel,  and  created  the  pretty  story  of  "a  lover  and  his  lass" 
contending  with  an  elderly  relative  for  the  monopoly  of  the 
skies.  An  exciting  tale  of  adventure  in  midair. 

THE  GAME  AND  THE  CANDLE.    By  Eleanor  M, 

Ingram.    Illustrated  by  P.  D.  Johnson. 
The  hero  is  a  young  American,  who,  to  save  his  family  from 
poverty,  deliberately  commits  a  felony.    Then  follow  his  cap 
ture  and  imprisonment,  and  his  rescue  by  a  Russian  Grand 
Duke.    A  stirring  story,  rich  in  sentiment. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  526  WEST  26th  ST.,  NEW  YORK 


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CY  WHITTAKER'S  PLACE.    By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 
Illustrated  by  Wallace  Morgan. 

A  Cape  Cod  story  describing  the  amusing  efforts  of  an  e! 
derly  bachelor  and  his  two  cronies  to  rear  and  educate  a  little 
girl.    Full  of  honest  fun — a  rural  drama. 
THE  FORGE  IN  THE  FOREST.    By  Charles  G.  D. 
Roberts.     Illustrated  by  H.  Sandham. 

A  story  of  the  conflict  in  Acadia  after  its  conquest  by  the 
British.  A  dramatic  picture  that  lives  and  shines  with  the  in 
definable  charm  of  poetic  romance. 

A  SISTER  TO  EVANGELINE.      By  Charles  G.  D. 
Roberts.    Illustrated  by  E.  McConnell. 

Being  the  story  of  Yvonne  de  Lamourie,  and  how  she  went 
into  exile  with  the  villagers  of  Grand  Pre.  Swift  action, 
fresh  atmosphere,  wholesome  purity,  deep  passion  and  search 
ing  analysis  characterize  this  strong  novel. 
THE  OPENED  SHUTTERS.  By  Clara  Louise  Burn- 
ham.  Frontispiece  by  Harrison  Fisher. 

A  summer  haunt  on  an  island  in  Casco  Bay  is  the  back 
ground  for  this  romance.  A  beautiful  woman,  nfc  discord  with 
life,  is  brought  to  realize,  by  her  new  friends,  that  she  may 
open  the  shutters  of  her  soul  to  the  blessed  sunlight  of  joy  by 
casting  aside  vanity  and  self  love.  A  delicately  humorous 
work  with  a  lofty  motive  underlying  it  all. 
THE  RIGHT  PRINCESS.  By  Clara  Louise  Burnham. 

An  amusing  story,  opening  at  a  fashionable  Long  Island  re 
sort,  where  a  stately  Englishwoman  employs  a  forcible  New 
England  housekeeper  to  serve  in  her  interesting  home.  How 
types  so  widely  apart  react  on  each  others'  lives,  all  to  ulti 
mate  good,  makes  a  story  both  humorous  and  rich  in  sentiment. 

THE  LEAVEN  OF  LOVE.    By  Clara  Louise   Burn- 
ham.    Frontispiece  by  Harrison  Fisher. 
At  a  Southern  California  resort  a  world-weary  woman,  young 
and  beautiful  but  disillusioned,  meets  a  girl  who  has  learned 
the  art  of  living — of  tasting  life  in  all  its  richness,  opulence  and 
joy.    The  story  hinges  upon  the  change  wrought  in  the  soul 
of  the  blasfc  woman  by  this  glimpse  into  a  cheery  life. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  526  WEST  26th  ST.,  NEW  YORK 


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THE  MUSIC  MASTER.    By  Charles  Klein.     Illustrated 

by  John  Rae. 

This  marvelously  vivid  narrative  turns  upon  the  search  of  a  Ger 
man  musician  in  JNew  York  for  his  little  daughter.  Mr.  Klein  has 
well  portrayed  his  pathetic  struggle  with  poverty,  his  varied  expe 
riences  in  endeavoring  to  meet  the  demands  of  a  public  not  trained 
to  an  appreciation  of  the  classic,  and  his  final  great  hour  when,  in 
the  rapidly  shifting  events  of  a  big  city,  his  little  daughter,  now  a 
beautifnl  young  woman,  is  brought  to  his  very  door.  A  superb  bit 
of  fiction,  palpitating  with  the  life  of  the  great  metropolis.  The 
play  in  which  David  WarS eld  scored  his  highest  success. 

DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE.      By    Margaret  Deland. 

Illustrated  by  Lucius  Hitchcock. 

Mrs.  Deland  won  so  many  friends  through  Old  Chester  Tales 
that  this  volume  needs  no  introduction  beyond  its  title.  The  lova 
ble  doctor  is  more  ripened  in  this  later  book,  and  the  simple  come- 
dies  and  tragedies  of  the  old  village  are  told  with  dramatic  charm. 

OLD  CHESTER  TALES.  By  Margaret  Deland,  Illustrated 

by  Howard  Pyle. 

Stories  portraying  with  delightful  humor  and  pathos  a  quaint  peo 
ple  in  a  sleepy  old  town.  Dr.  Lavendar,  a  very  human  and  lovable 
"preacher,"  is  the  connecting  link  between  these  dramatic  starves 
from  life. 

HE  FELL  IN  LOVE  WITH  HIS  WIFE.    By  E.  P.Koe. 

With  frontispiece. 

The  hero  is  a  farmer — a  man  with  honest,  sincere  views  of  life. 
Beieft  of  his  wife,  his  home  is  cared  for  by  a  succession  of  domes 
tics  of  varying  degrees  of  inefficiency  until,  from  a  most  unpromis 
ing  source,  comes  a  young  woman  who  not  only  becomes  his  wife 
but  commands  his  respect  and  eventually  wins  his  love.  A  bright 
and  delicate  romance,  revealing  on  both  sides  a  love  that  surmounts 
all  difficulties  and  survives  the  censure  of  friends  as  well  as  the  bit 
terness  of  enemies. 

THE  YOKE.    By  Elizabeth  Miller. 

Against  the  historical  background  of  the  days  when  the  children 
of  Israel  were  delivered  from  the  bondage  of  Egypt,  the  author  has 
sketched  a  romance  of  compelling  charm.  A  biblical  novel  as  great 
as  any  since  "  Ben  Hur." 

SAUL  OF  TARSUS.    By  Elizabeth  Miller.    Illustrated  by 

Andre"  Castaigne. 

The  scenes  of  this  story  are  laid  in  Jerusalem,  Alexandria,  Rome 
and  Damascus.  The  Apostle  Paul,  the  Martyr  Stephen,  Herod 
Agrippa  and  the  Emperors  Tiberius  and  Caligula  are  among  the 
mighty  figures  that  move  through  the  pages.  Wonderful  descrip 
tions,  and  a  love  story  of  the  purest  and  noblest  type  mark  this 
most  remarkable  religious  romance. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  526  WEST  26th  ST.,  NEW  YORK 


A  FEW  OF 

GROSSET   &  DUNLAP'S 
Great  Books  at  Little  Prices 

BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY.     By  Philip  Verrill  Mighels. 

An  uproariously  funny  story  of  a  tiny  mining  settlement  in  the 
West,  which  is  shaken  to  the  very  roots  by  the  sudden  possession 
of  a  baby,  found  on  the  plains  by  one  of  its  residents.  The  town  is 
as  disreputable  a  spot  as  the  gold  fever  was  ever  responsible  for, 
and  the  coming  of  that  baby  causes  the  upheaval  of  every  rooted 
tradition  of  the  place.  Its  christening,  the  problems  of  its  toys  and 
its  illness  supersede  in  the  minds  of  the  miners  all  thought  of  earthy 
treasure. 

THE  FURNACE  OF  GOLD.  By  Philip  Verrill  Mighels, 
author  of  "Bruvver  Jim's  Baby."  Illustrations  by  J.  *T. 
Marchand. 

An  accurate  and  informing  portrayal  of  scenes,  types,  and  condi 
tions  of  the  mining  districts  in  modern  Nevada, 

The  book  is  an  out-door  story,  clean,  exciting,  exemplifying  no 
bility  and  courage  of  character,  a'nd  bravery,  and  heroism  in  the  sort 
of  men  and  women  we  all  admire  and  wish  to  know. 
THE  MESSAGE.     By  Louis  Tracy.  Illustrations  by  Joseph 
C.  Chase. 

A  breezy  tale  of  how  a  bit  of  old  parchment,  concealed  in  a  figure 
head  from  a  sunken  vessel,  comes  into  the  possession  of  a  pretty 
girl  and  an  army  man  during  regatta  week  in  the  Isle  of  Wight. 
This  is  the  message  and  it  enfolds  a  mystery,  the  development  of 
which  the  reader  will  follow  with  breathless  interest. 
THE  SCARLET  EMPIRE.  By  David  M.  Parry.  Illus- 
trations  by  Hermann  C.  Wall. 

A  young  socialist,  weary  of  life,  plunges  into  the  sea  and  awakes 
in  the  lost  island  of  Atlantis,  known  as  the  Scarlet  Empire,  where 
a  social  democracy  is  in  full  operation,  granting  every  man  a  living 
but  limiting  food,  conversation,  education  and  marriage. 

The  hero  passes  through  an  enthralling  love  affair  and  other  ad« 
ventures  but  finally  returns  to  his  own  New  York  world. 

THE  THIRD  DEGREE.  By  Charles  Klein  and  Arthur 
Hornblqw.  Illustrations  by  Clarence  Rowe. 

A  novel  which  exposes  the  abuses  in  this  country  of  the  police 
system. 

The  son  of  an  aristocratic  New  York  family  marries  a  woman 
socially  beneath  him,  but  of  strong,  womanly  qualities  ^hat,  later 
on,  save  the  man  from  the  tragic  consequences  of  a  dissipated  life 

The  wife  believes  in  his  innocence  and  her  wit  and  good  senst- 
help  her  to  win  against  the  tremendous  odds  imposed  by  law. 

THE  THIRTEENTH  DISTRICT.  By  Brand  Whitlock, 
A  realistic  westernstory  of  love  and  politics  and  a  searching  study 
r>f  their  influence  on  character.  The  author  shows  with  extraordi- 
3  »ry  vitality  of  treatment  the  tricks,  the  heat,  the  passion,  t^°.  tu- 
luult  of  the  political  arena  the  triumph  and  strength  of  love. 
> — — . — — . —  i  , 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  526  WEST  26th  ST.,  NEW  YORK 


A  FEW  OF 

GROSSET  &   DUNLAP'S 
Great  Books  at  Little  Prices 

HAPPY  HAWKINS.    By  Robert  Alexander  Wason.   Illus- 

trated  by  Howard  Giles. 

A  ranch  and  cowboy  novel.  Happy  Hawkins  tells  his  own  story 
With  such  a  fine  capacity  for  knowing  how  to  do  it  and  with  so  much 
humor  that  the  reader's  interest  is  held  in  surprise,  then  admiration 
and  at  last  in  positive  affection. 

COMRADES.    By  Thomas  Dixon,  Jr.    Illustrated  by  C.  D. 

Williams. 

The  locale  of  this  story  is  in  California,  where  a  few  socialists 
establish  a  little  community. 

The  author  leads  the  little  band  along  the  path  of  disillusion 
ment,  and  gives  some  brilliant  flashes  of  light  on  one  side  of  an 
important  question. 

TONO-BUNGAY.    By  Herbert  George  Wells. 

The  hero  of  this  novel  is  a  young  man  who,  through  hard  work, 
earns  a  scholarship  and  goes  to  London. 

Written  with  a  frankness  verging  on  Rousseau's,  Mr.  Wells  stili 
uses  rare  discrimination  and  the  border  line  of  propriety  is  never 
crossed.    An  entertaining  book  with  both  a  story  and  a  moral,  and 
without  a  dull  page— Mr.  Wells's  most  notable  achievement. 
A.  HUSBAND  BY  PROXY.    By  Jack  Steele. 

A  young  criminologist,  but  recently  arrived  in  New  York  city, 
is  drawn  into  a  mystery,  partly  through  financial  need  and  partly 
through  his  interest  in  a  beautiful  woman,  who  seems  at  times  the 
simplest  child  and  again  a  perfect  mistress  of  intrigue.  A  baffling 
detective  story. 

LIKE  ANOTHER  HELEN.    By  George  Horton.    Illus 
trated  by  C.  M.  Relyea. 

^Ir.  Horton  s  powerful  romance  stands  in  a  new  field  and  brings 
an  almost  unknown  world  in  reality  before  the  reader — the  world 
of  conflict  between  Greek  and  Turk  on  the  Island  of  Crete.  The 
"  Helen  "  of  the  story  is  a  Greek,  beautiful,  desolate,  defiant — pure 
as  snow. 

There  is  a.  certain  new  force  about  the  story,  a  kind  of  master- 
crafts  <nanship  and  mental  dominance  that  holds  the  reader. 
THE    MASTER    OF    APPLEBY.     By    Francis    Lynde 
Illustrated  by  T.  de  Thulstrup. 

"A  novel  tale  concerning  itself  in  part  with  the  great  struggle  in 
the  two  Carolinas,  but  chiefly  with  the  adventures  therein  of  two 
gentlemen  who  loved  one  and  the  same  lady. 

A  strong,  masculine  and  persuasive  story. 
A  MODERN  MADONNA.     By  Caroline  Abbot  Stanley. 

A  story  of  American  life,  founded  on  facts  as  they  existed  some 
years  ago  in  the  District  of  Columbia.  The  theme  is  the  maten>al 
love  and  splendid  courage  of  a  woman. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  526  WE^T  26th  ST.,  NEW  YORK 


A  FEW  OF 

GROSSET  &    DUN  LAP'S 
Great  Books  at  Little  Prices 

WHEN  A  MAN  MARRIES.  By  Mary  Roberts  Rinehart, 
Illustrated  by  Harrison  Fisher  and  Mayo  Bunker. 

A  young  artist,  whose  wife  had  recently  divorced  him,  finds  that 
a  visit  is  due  from  his  Aunt  Selina,  an  elderly  lady  having  ideas' 
about  things  quite  apart  from  the  Bohemian  set  in  which  her 
nephew  is  a  shining  light.  The  way  in  which  matters  are  tempo 
rarily  adjusted  forms  the  motif  of  the  story. 

A  farcical  extravaganza,  dramatized  under  the  title  of  "Seven  Days" 

THE  FASHIONABLE    ADVENTURES   OF  JOSHUA 
>     CRAIG.    By  David  Graham  Phillips.     Illustrated. 
A  young  westerner,    uncouth  and   unconventional,  appears  in 
political  and  social  life  in.  Washington.     He  attains  power  in  poli 
tics,  and  a  yc  ang  woman  of  the  exclusive  set  becomes  his  wife,  un 
dertaking  hi:  education  in  social  amenities. 

"  DOC."  G  ORDON.  By  Mary  E.  Wilkins-Freeman.  Illus 
trated  >y  Frank  T.  Merrill. 

Against  tue  familiar  background  of  American  town  life,  the 
author  portrays  a  group  of  people  strangely  involved  in  a  mystery. 
"Doc.  Gordon,  the  one  physician  of  the  place,  Dr.  Elliot,  his 
assistant,  a  beautiful  woman  and  her  altogether  charming  daughter 
are  all  involved  in  the  plot.  A  novel  of  great  interest. 

HOLY  ORDERS.    By  Marie  Corelli. 

A  dramatic  story,  in  which  is  pictured  a  clergyman  in  touch  with 
society  people,  stage  favorites,  simple  village  folk,  powerful  finan 
ciers  and  others,  each  presenting  vital  problems  to  this  man  "  in 
holy  orders" — problems  that  we  are  now  struggling  with  in  America. 
KATRINE.  By  Elinor  Macartney  Lane.  With  frontispiece. 

Katrine,  the  heroine  of  this  story,  is  a  lovely  Irish  girl,  of  lowly 
birth,  but  gifted  with  a  beautiful  voice. 

The  narrative  is  based  on  the  facts  of  an  actual  singer's  career, 
and  the  viewpoint  throughout  is  a  most  exalted  one. 

THE   FORTUNES    OF  FIFI.    By  Molly  Elliot  Seawell. 
.         Illustrated  by  T.  de  Thulstrup. 

A  story  of  life  in  France  at  the  time  of  the  first  Napoleon.  Fifi, 
ft  glad,  mad  little  actress  of  eighteen,  is  the  star  performer  in  a  third 
late  Parisian  theatre.  A  story  as  dainty  as  a  Watteau  painting. 

SHE  THAT  HESITATES.  By  Harris  Dickson.  Illus- 
trated  by  C.  W.  Relyea. 

The  scene  of  this  dashing  romance  shifts  from  Dresden  to  St. 
Petersburg  in  the  reign  of  Peter  the  Great,  and  then  to  New  Orleans. 

The  hero  is  a  French  Soldier  of  Fortune,  and  the  princess,  who 
hesitates — but  yon  must  read  the  story  to  know  how  she  that  hesitates 
may  be  lost  and  yet  saved. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  526  WEST  26th  ST.,  NEW  YORK 


THE  NOVELS   OF 

GEORGE  BARR  McCUTCHEQN 

GRAUSTARK. 

A  story  of  love  behind  a  throne,  telling  how  a  young 
American  met  a  lovely  girl  and  followed  her  to  a  new  and 
strange  country.     A  thrilling,  dashing  narrative. 
BEVERLY  OF  GRAUSTARK. 

Beverly  is  a  bewitching  American  girl  who  has  gone  to 
that  stirring  little  principality — Graustark — to  visit  her  friend 
the  princess,  and  there  has  a  romantic  affair  of  her  own. 
BREWSTER'S  MILLIONS. 

A  young  man  is  required  to  spend  one  million  dollars  in 
one  year  in  order  to  inherit  seven.    How  he  does  it  forms  the 
basis  of  a  lively  story. 
CASTLE  CRANEYCROW. 

The  story  \  evolves  round  the  abduction  of  a  young  Amer 
ican  woman,  her  imprisonment  in  an  old  castle  and  the  adven 
tures  created  through  her  rescue. 
COWARDICE  COURT. 

An  amusing  social  feud  in  the  Adirondacks  in  which  an 
English  girl  is  tempted  into  being  a  traitor  by  a  romantic 
young  American,  forms  the  plot. 
THE  DAUGHTER  OF  ANDERSON  CROW. 

The  story  centers  about  the  adopted  daughter  of  the  town 
mnrshal  in  a  western  village.     Her  parentage  is  shrouded  in 
mystery,  and  the  story  concerns  the  secret  that  deviously 
works  to  the  surface. 
THE  MAN  FROM  BRODNEY'S. 

The  hero  meets  a  princess  in  a  far-away  island  among 
fanatically  hostile  Musselmen.     Romantic  love  making  amid 
amusing  situations  and  exciting  adventures. 
NEDRA. 

A  young  couple  elope  from  Chicage  to  go  to   London 
traveling  as  brother  and  sister.    They  are  shipwrecked  and  a 
strange  mix-up  occurs  on  account  of  it. 
THE  SHERRODS. 

The  scene  is  the  Middle  West  and  centers  around  a  man 
;vho  leads  a  double  life.    A  most  enthralling  novel. 
TRUXTON  KING. 

A  handsome  good  natured  young  fellow  ranges  on  the 
earth  looking  for  romantic  adventures  and  is  finally  enmeshed 
in  most  complicated  intrigues  in  Graustark. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  526  WEST  26th  ST.,  NEW  YORK 


TITLES   SELECTED  FROM 

GROSSET    &    DUNLAP'S    LIST 

REALISTIC.  ENGAGING  PICTURES  OF  LIFE 

THE  GARDEN  OF  FATE.  By  Roy  Norton.  Illustrated 

by  Joseph  Clement  Coll. 

The  colorful  romance  of  3n  American  girl  in  Morocco,  an<3 
of  a  beautiful  garden,  whose  beauty  and  traditions  of  strange 
subtle  happenings  were  closed  to  the  world  by  a  Sultan's  seal, 

THE  MAN  HIGHER  UP.     By  Henry  Russell  Miller. 
Full  page  vignette  illustrations  by  M.  Leone  Bracker. 

The  story  of  a  tenement  waif  who  rose  by  his  own  ingenuity 
to  the  office  of  mayor  of  his  native  city.  His  experiences 
while  "climbing,"  make  a  most  interesting  example  of  the 
possibilities  of  human  nature  to  rise  above  circumstances. 

THE  KEY  TO  YESTERDAY.      By  Charles  Neville 
Buck.     Illustrated  by  R.  Schabelitz. 

Robert  Saxon,  a  prominent  artist,  has  an  accident,  while  in 
Paris,  v;hich  obliterates  his  memory,  and  the  only  clue  he  has 
4o  his  former  life  is  a  rusty  key.  What  door  in  Paris  will  it 
unlock  ?  He  must  know  that  before  he  woos  the  girl  he  ioves. 

THE  DANGER  TRAIL.     By  James  Oliver  Curwood. 

Illustrated  by  Charles  Livingston  Bull. 
The  danger  trail  is  over  the  snow-smothered  North.     A 
young  Chicago  engineer,  who  is  building  a  road  through  the 
Hudson  Bay  region,  is  involved  in  mystery,  and  is  led  into 
imbush  by  a  young  woman. 

THE  GAY  LORD  WARING.    By  Houghton  Townley. 

Illustrated  by  Will  Grefe. 

A  story  of  the  smart  hunting  set  in  England.  A  gay  young 
lord  wins  in  love  against  his  selfish  and  cowardly  brother  ana 
apparently  against  fate  itself. 

BY  INHERITANCE.    By  Octave  Thanet.    Illustrated 
by  Thomas  Fogarty.     Elaborate  wrapper  in  colors. 
A  wealthy  New  England  spinster  with  the  most  elaborate 
pl*ns  for  the  education  of  the  negro  goes  to  visit  her  nephew 
in  Arkansas,  where  she  learns  the  needs  of  the  colored  race 
hand  and  begins  to  lose  her  theories. 


GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  526  WEST  26th  ST.,  NEW  YORK 


Stewart  Edward  White's 

Great  Novels  of  Western  Life, 

THE  BLAZED  TRAIL.  With  illustrations  by  Thomas  Fogarty. 

"  It  is  a  wholesome  story,  full  of  sinew  and  pluck  and  endur 
ance,  with  gleams  of  humor  and  touches  of  philosophy  and  play 
of  courage.    It  tells  of  the  young  man  who  blazed  his  way  to  for 
tune  through  the  heart  of  the  Michigan  pines."—  The  Critic. 
THE  CLAIM  JUMPERS.    A  Romance. 

A  tale  of  a  Western  mining  camp  and  the  making  of  a  man. 
DeLancy  Bennington,  of  an  aristocratic  Boston  family,  finds  him 
self  manager  of  a  mine  in  a  gulch  of  the  Black  Hills.  The  ten 
derfoot  has  a  hard  time  of  it,  but  meets  the  situation,  shows  the 
stuff  he  is  made  of  and  "  wins  out  "  in  more  ways  than  one. 

THE  MAGIC  FOREST.    With  illustrations. 

"  No  better  book  could  be  put  in  a  young  boy's  hands.  The 
sympathetic  way  in  which  the  children  of  the  wild  and  their  life 
is  treated  could  only  belong  to  one  who  is  in  love  with  the  forest 
and  the  open  air.  Based  on  fact  and  throbbing  with  life." 

THE  SILENT  PLACES.    With  illustrations. 

"  The  wonders  of  the  northern  forests  through  all  the  four  sea 
sons,  as  well  as  the  contrasts  between  youth  and  age,  feminine  de 
votion  and  masculine  power,  the  intelligence  of  the  Caucasian 
and  the  instinct  of  the  Indian,  all  are  finely  drawn,  while  the 
knowledge  of  nature  informs  every  page."—  The  Dial. 

THE  WESTERNERS. 

"  Belongs  to  that  brilliant  galaxy  of  novels  which  open  with  such 
promise  for  pure  American  fiction.  This  story  of  the  Black  Hills 
will  claim  its  place  among  the  best  of  the  American  novels.  It 
portrays  the  life  of  the  new  West  as  no  other  book  has  yet  done. 

CONJUROR'S  HOUSE. 

Was  a  shipping  center  in  the  fur  trade  in  the  great  days  of  tha 
Hudson's  Bay  Company.  How  Ned  Trent  entered  the  forbid 
den  territory,  took  la  longue  traverse,  and  subsequently  the  long 
journey  down  the  river  of  life  with  the  factor's  daughter  is 
ingeniously  told,  with  a  wealth  of  thrilling  and  romantic  situations. 

ARIZONA  NIGHTS.    With  illustrations  by  N.  C.  Wyeth. 

A  series  of  spirited  tales  emphasizing  some  phase  of  the  life  of  . 
the  ranch,  plains  and  desert,  and  all,  taken  together,  forming  a 
single  sharply-cut  picture  of  life  in  the  far  Southwest.    All  the 
tonic  of  the  West  is  in  this  masterpiece  of  Stewart  Edward  White. 

THE  MYSTERY.    With  illustrations  by  Will  Crawford. 

tor  breathless  interest,  concentrated  excitement  and  extraordi 
narily  good  story-telling  on  all  counts,  no  more  completely  satis 
fying  romance  has  appeared  for  years.  It  is  mystery  and  adven- 
venture,  and  the  best  story  of  its  kind  since  Treasure  Island. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP.  Publishers,      -     -     NEW  YORK 


FAMOUS  COPYRIGHT  BOOKS 
IN   POPULAR    PRICED    EDITIONS 

Re-issues  of  the  great  literary  successes  of  the  time.  Library 
size.  Printed  on  excellent  paper — most  of  them  with  illustra 
tions  of  marked  beauty — and  handsomely  bound  in  cloth. 
Price,  75  cents  a  volume,  postpaid. 

BARREL  OF  THE  BLESSED  ISLES.      By  Irving  Bach- 

eller.  With  illustrations  by  Arthur  Keller. 
"Darrel,  the  clock  tinker,  is  a  wit,  philosopher,  and  man  of  mystery. 
Learned,  strong,  kindly,  dignified,  he  towers  like  a  giant  above  the 
people  among  whom  he  lives.  It  is  another  tale  of  the  North  Coun 
try,  full  of  the  odor  of  wood  and  field.  Wit,  humor,  pathos  and  high 
t [linking  are  in  this  book." — Boston  Transcript. 

P'RI  AND  I :  A  Tale  of  Daring  Deeds  in  the  Second  War 
with  the  British.  Being  the  Memoirs  of  Colonel  Ramon 
Bell,  U.  S.  A.  By  Irving  Bacheller.  With  illustrations  by 
F.  C.  Yohn. 

"  Mr.  Bacheller  is  admirable  alike  in  his  scenes  of  peace  and  war. 
D'ri,  a  mighty  hunter,  has  the  same  dry  humor  as  Uncle  Eb.  He 
fights  magnificently  on  the  '  Lawrence,'  and  was  among  the  wounded 
when  Perry  went  to  the  '  Niagara.'  As  a  romance  of  early  American 
history  it  is  great  for  the  enthusiasm  it  creates." — New  York  Times. 

EBEN  HOLDEN  :  A  Tale  of  the  North  Country.    By  Irving 

Bacheller. 

"  As  pure  as  water  and  as  good  as  bread,"  says  Mr.  Howells.  "Read 
'  Eben  Holden  '"is  the  advice  of  Margaret  Sangster.  "  It  is  a  forest- 
scented,  fresh-aired,  bracing  and  wholly  American  story  of  country 
and  town  life.  *  *  *  If  in  the  far  future  our  successors  wish  to 
know  what  were  the  real  life  and  atmosphere  in  which  the  country 
folk  that  saved  this  nation  grew,  loved,  wrought  and  had  their  being, 
they  must  go  back  to  such  true  and  zestful  and  poetic  tales  of 'fiction* 
as  '  Eben  Holden,'  "  says  Edmund  Clarence  Stedman. 

SILAS  STRpNG:  Emperor  of  the  Woods.  By  Irving  Bach 
eller.  With  a  frontispiece. 

"  A  modern  Leatherstocking.  Brings  the  city  dweller  the  aroma  of 
the  pine  and  the  music  of  the  wind  in  its  branches — an  epic  poem 
*  *  *  forest-scented,  fresh-aired,  and  wholly  American.  A  stronger 
character  than  Eben  Holden." — Chicago  Record-Herald. 

VERGILIUS:  A  Tale  of  the  Coming  of  Christ.  By  Irving 
Bacheller. 

A  thrilling  and  beautiful  story  of  two  young  Roman  patricians  whose 
great  and  perilous  love  in  the  reign  of  Augustus  leads  them  through 
the  momentous,  exciting  events  that  marked  the  year  just  preceding 
the  birth  of  Christ. 

Splendid  character  studies  of  the  Emperor  Augustus,  of  Herod  and 
his  degenerate  son,  Antipater,  and  of  his  daughter  "the  incomparable" 
Salome.  A  great  triumph  in  the  art  of  historical  portrait  painting. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  •  NEW  YORK 


°°0  360  874 


